


Alpha Beta Omega

by rosewindow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Bromance, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewindow/pseuds/rosewindow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Epic Tale About the Power of Bromance to Defeat the Evil Tyranny of Adult Authority</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rush

A crusty couch in an unfamiliar frat house wasn’t the best place to wake up, but it wasn’t the worst either. So Stiles was gonna call the first night of college a win.

He roused Scott from his nap on the next couch and they slunk out of the house and back to their dorm room.

“Remind me never to listen to you again,” he grumbled, as he collapsed fully-clothed on his extra-long twin.

Scott just snored in response.

—-

Stiles hadn’t planned on joining a fraternity, but on the second day of orientation, Scott burst into their room with a fistful of rush pamphlets in his hand and a dopey grin on his face.

“I think we should rush.”

“What? I thought we agreed not to.”

Scott turned on the full force of his puppy dog eyes which Stiles managed to resist for a full thirty seconds.

“Okay fine. Why the change of heart?”

“I was at the Student Union and there was this girl-”

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer.

“She was totally gorgeous, alright? And hanging out with a bunch of frat guys, and I thought we could join up too. To meet girls.”

“Let me get this straight. You want to join an all-male organization, where they probably perform naked rituals and force people to do morally questionable things to themselves and others, in order to meet girls?”

Scott frowned in confusion. “Yeah.”

Stiles shrugged. “Alright. It can’t be that terrible, right?”

—-

Wrong.

By their third house visit, Stiles was about ready to punch somebody. Or possibly take a vow of voluntary solitude. He hated the blazer and khakis he’d been forced to don. Hated the inane chit-chat and the crappy food. He even hated the not-so-subtly spiked punch (although he thought it might be the only thing that got him through the night). And he hated that he couldn’t tell the houses apart. If a frat was supposed to be this big deal, like brothers for life or whatever, why were they all so similar? If he couldn’t differentiate between houses, how the hell was he supposed to pick the right one for him?

They were getting their nametags at the fourth house when Scott froze. “Dude! Stiles. It’s her.”

Stiles looked in the direction he was so desperately pointing. He had to admit that the girl was totally gorgeous. She was also laughing with the equally gorgeous captain of the basketball team. Scott had no chance.

“Look, let’s just sign our names and go, alright? These guys look like total douchenozzles.”

“I wanna talk to her. C’mon.”

Stiles reluctantly followed his roommate into the party.

Thirty minutes later, Scott was no closer to talking to dream girl (whose name was apparently Alison) and Stiles had had the same conversation with just about every single member of Alpha Gamma (who were all jerks). Stiles was dragging Scott out of the house by the scruff of his neck, when the party gods smiled down upon them and they bumped into Allison.

“Hey,” said Scott, straightening up and swatting Stiles away.

“Hi. I’m Allison. You’re in my English class, right?”

“Yeah. Scott. I’m Scott.”

“Allison!” It was the basketball captain.

“Just a second Chris! My brother,” she explained apologetically. “I should go. It was nice to meet you.”

Scott was still floating when they got to the next house. “She’s perfect,” he murmured.

“Right, well, moon over her later. You got me into this whole frat business, so you’re gonna finish it with me.”

Their fifth and final house of the evening was Alpha Beta Omega. It had clearly been a very nice house at one point, but it had the slightly grimy look that was universal to frat houses everywhere. Beer cans littered the front lawn, mostly clustered around a few broken down armchairs and lawn furniture. The house itself needed a fresh coat of paint and a few new windows. The porch looked half-rotted and there was also some significant fire damage.

“Well this is a bad case of tetanus waiting to happen. Can we go home now?”

Scott pulled himself out of his Allison-induced stupor to say, “Oh dude, I know the president. His name’s Peter Hale, he’s the lab assistant in my Psych class. He’s pretty chill. Come on, just a few more minutes.”

“I really hate you.”

Scott grinned.

The guy at the nametag table was obviously stoned and wrote their names as “Scoot” and “Kyle.” Stiles was beyond caring at that point. He had to admit it was a cooler party than the others though - more like a normal party than forced socialness. Stiles had no trouble talking at length about just about anything, but there was a limit to even his small talk capabilities. Scott introduced him to Peter who got them both beers and showed them around a bit.

“Dude! This is awesome!” Stiles exclaimed at the gaming room.

Peter laughed. “Yeah, we decided to use our insurance money from the fire to get the sickest system on campus. Feel free to swing by whenever for a round, there’s always someone using it.”

It was currently being used by three guys who were cursing exuberantly at the blonde girl destroying them at Mario Cart. There was a group next door playing beer pong and Peter left them with instructions to ‘have a good time.’ They got roped into a game of beer pong (which Stiles sucked at) and then a game of flip cup (where it was Scott’s turn to suck).

“You’re doing it too hard, man! Hit it lightly. Like it’s a baby’s bottom.”

As ridiculous as the advice was, it worked and Scott got it on his next try.

Stiles was wandering in search of a bathroom when he ran into his Bio professor.

“Oh, uh, hey Dr. Deaton.”

“Mr. Stilinski.”

“What are you doing- uh…”

“A legitimate question. I’m the faculty advisor for ABO. And occasional medic,” he added with a wry grin.

“Cool.” Stiles liked Deaton. They were chatting about some of his research when a sophomore interrupted them.

“Hey yo Dr. D! Can I get an eighth from you, man? I’ve got two philosophy papers due next week.”

Deaton excused himself and went off to haggle with the philosopher, so Stiles went to find Scott. He’d gone back to beer pong, and was actually doing pretty decently with another freshman named Isaac.

At ten, Peter came in and flicked the lights for attention. “If you’re rushing you’re technically supposed to leave now, but we just opened another keg, so we won’t tell if you don’t.”

Everyone cheered. Stiles looked around the room and realized that these were the dudes for him. Maybe it wasn’t quite ‘bros for life’ yet, but this was definitely where he wanted to spend his Friday nights.

—-

The bid cards were in their mailboxes on Friday. Stiles had two and Scott had three, but there was only one that they really wanted. They tore into the envelopes eagerly and hooted in triumph. They were going to be ABOs.

—-

_“The Brothers of Alpha Beta Omega invite you to become a Pledged Member of the Eta Epsilon chapter of our Order.”_


	2. Shake Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m basing this off the Greek system at my college which was a little bit odd and a lotta bit old-fashioned. Shake Day = Bid Day. The “Shaking” tradition is explained in the fic, but I can answer questions if you’ve got them.
> 
> Also, I did a quick Google search to make sure the names of the frats/sororities aren’t actually in use, but some group is probably using these particular permutations of letters, so apologies if any of them stumble across this little fic and take offence.

Shake Day dawned cool and clear. The campus was quiet and still all morning with only a few students venturing out to the dining hall or library. A tour was being led around and the tour guide kept checking her watch because at noon, everything changed when the frat boys attacked.

It started out as a sort of generalized roar that Scott could hear even in his bed under the covers.

“Nnng. Whas that?” he grumbled, burrowing deeper into his blanket.

Stiles was already awake and doing something on his computer. “The frats have already started drinking.”

“Did we miss Shake Day?” Scott scrambled upright in genuine panic.

“No, dude. The drinking’s just started. We’ve got a few hours til they come get us. Go back to sleep.”

“Kay.” Scott lay back down. “I wonder what sorority Allison got into.”

Stiles’s eye roll was probably visible from space.

—-

There was a pounding on the door. Stiles opened it to reveal five frat guys including Peter Hale. Each one introduced themselves and held out a hand to shake. Without hesitation, Scott and Stiles reached out to shake the hands of the ABO representatives.

“Alright! Pledges!” shouted Peter, clearly on the way to wasted. “Let’s get this Shake Day started!”

The four of them ran from the dorm to the frat house, picking up other pledges as they went. They passed Alpha Gamma on the way and Peter instructed them all to boo loudly which they obediently did.

Even though it had been Scott’s idea to rush, he’d had a few doubts about the whole thing; but the feeling of crossing the lawn on Shake Day wiped them all from his mind. The brothers were all cheering and howling their approval as the pledges ran by. Peter presented them all with official ABO letter shirts which were immediately christened by a spray of beer from Pledge Trainer Finstock.

“Right pledges. We can’t keep calling you all Pledge One or Skinny Pledge. It’s time for your names. Wear them well, they will serve you all four years,” Finstock slurred.

“Yeah, Cupcake!” someone called from the crowd to general laughter.

“Isaac, your pledge name is Bo Peep. Boyd, you will henceforth be known as Iceman. Stiles, your Alpha Beta Omega pledge name is Bambi. Greenberg, God help us all, your name is Abomination. And Scott-”

Scott looked up in anticipation.

“Your pledge name is - Potato. Good luck with that. I present to you, our pledges!”

There were more cheers.

“Alright, alright. I’m gonna say this before the pledges get too drunk to remember,” called Peter, holding up his hands for silence. “You’re now pledged to the best damn frat on campus - Alpha Beta Omega.” The assembled brothers roared. “You may have noticed the wolf on your shirt, he’s taken from our crest, and he’s there for a reason. You can learn a lot from him. A wolf by himself is awesome, but a wolf with his pack is a force to be reckoned with. You are all awesome wolves, and this is now your pack. And we are a force to be reckoned with!”

“Wolf Pack!” roared Finstock. “Let’s show these pups how to howl!”

The brothers threw their heads back and howled, long and loud. After each pledge had howled satisfactorily back at the brothers, they were cheered again and presented with a celebratory beer. Scott was eternally grateful that it had only taken him two tries, unlike poor Greenberg.

“Now, to beer and pizza!”

—-

“Dude, who’s that creeping in the woods?”

“Wha?” Stiles jerked his head around, mouth full of pizza. “Oh.” He swallowed. “That’s Derek Hale, Peter’s cousin. He’s a junior, plays on the baseball team. His Little Brother left the frat after the fire.”

Scott gaped at him. “How the hell do you know all that?”

“While you were getting your much needed beauty sleep this morning, I was doing some research.”

“You mean Facebook stalking.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“We should go talk to him or something. Be brotherly.”

“No way dude. He’s terrifying. Just look at him.”

Scott shrugged and snagged another beer.

“Pledges! Gather round! Your Uncle Peter has a story for you. Do you know what the first rule of ABO is?” asked Peter, looking intently at the pledges gathered in front of him.

“Don’t talk about ABO?” suggested Boyd, with a tight smirk.

“No, that’s rules two and three. Rule one is: fuck those douchebags in Alpha Gamma. Those motherfuckers tried to burn our house down last year. We could never prove it, but I know it was them.” There was a murmur of angry agreement around the fire. “But don’t worry, we’ll get ‘em back, and get ‘em good. Protect the frat, and the frat protects you. Remember that.”

—-

There were technically only five pledges, but the blonde girl from the rush party had showed up an hour into Shake Day and commandeered a letter shirt and a six pack. Her name was Erica, and if Scott wasn’t so completely smitten with Allison, he might have fallen for her. That might just have been the beer though, because he loved everyone at the moment.

“Dude,” he said, grabbing at Stiles’s sleeve as his roommate walked by. “Dude, you’re the best. You’re my fav- well no, Allison’s my favorite, but you’re the best.”

“I’m crushed. You’ve only spoken like two words to Allison, and we’re brothers now, Scott. You really gonna cut me down like that bro?”

Scott opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by wolf whistles and cheers of “Hey ladies!” from the front of the house.

Stiles groaned. “I swear to God if that’s Allison, I’m quitting.”

It was Allison, along with most of the members of her new sorority.

“How come your rather suspect plan to meet girls actually worked, while my brilliant plan to get booze resulted in us being thrown out of the liquor store?” Stiles grumbled.

Scott shrugged. “Just lucky I guess.”

“Freakishly so,” he muttered, but quietly, because Allison was walking towards them with a red-haired girl.

“Hey Scott!”

“Hey Allison. Uh, this is Stiles.”

“What the hell is a ‘Stiles’?” The redhead was studying them suspiciously.

Stiles lurched forward. “That would be me. I’m a Stiles. I mean, that’s my name, or that’s what people call me. Me too. I call myself that.” Stiles trailed off with a nervous laugh.

Allison - goddess that she was - took pity on him and said, “This is Lydia. She lives on my hall and we rushed together. It was so exciting when we both got Theta Zeta.”

“Well why wouldn’t you?” asked Stiles. “You’re both stunning examples of female perfection.”

Lydia looked unimpressed.

“Do you have drinks?” Allison asked, when the silence stretched a second too long. “We weren’t allowed to drink all day, so we’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Yeah! Absolutely! I’ll take you to the keg. Or I’m sure I could find something stronger…”

“Keg is perfect.” Allison smiled at him and slipped a hand around his elbow and Scott felt his heart flop around in his chest.

In the back of his mind, Scott felt the tiniest bit guilty for focusing on Allison when today was supposed to be all about his brothers or whatever, but he decided that if they were true bros they would support his efforts to get a girlfriend. And Allison was great. He had known this before, but spending time with her just confirmed it. They’d been dancing close together for a good half hour when Scott suggested that maybe he could show her around the house, but she shook her head.

“Sorry. I really ought to go. My brother’ll kill me if I don’t stop by to see him on Shake Day.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. Chris. He’s the president of Alpha Gamma.”

Well, shit.

—-

_Here’s a toast to ABO, the best guys in town!_   
_We’re wonderful and glorious!_   
_Our deeds are notorious!_   
_And if I were to die today, and choose between Heaven and Hell!_   
_I’d say, Lord, let me be, cause I’d rather be,_   
_Down with those ABOs!_   
_A-B, A-B, A-B-Oo!_


	3. Pledges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by true events.

Things fell into a comfortable pattern after Shake Day. All the pledges gathered at least once a week for Finstock to yell at them about brotherhood a bit before beer and video games. Derek stayed up on the third floor to avoid the whole thing.

“You can’t hide up here forever, Derek.”

“I’m not hiding, Peter,” he growled back.

“Come on, man. The pledges are pretty cool, and Erica’s hot. You like blondes right?”

Derek snarled at his cousin. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

“Sorry, low blow. Look, will you come to the next pledge thing? We’re doing the goat, and Finstock can’t keep a straight face. I’ll buy you a case.”

Derek grumbled and slammed a few books around, but he did agree.

—-

“Pledges, this is Derek Hale, you may have noticed him lurking around the house. He’s our Ritual Chair, and he has an important job for you. Derek?”

“Initiation’s still a while away, but we need to start preparing for it. You’ll learn more about the ritual as you go through pledging, but what you need to know right now is that Initiation involves a goat and we have to get it ready, so we need you to get us one within the next week. A live one, preferably female; it’s better for the ceremony.”

It was difficult to hold back his smirk at the looks of abject horror on the faces of the freshman. It was a fine Alpha Beta Omega tradition: give the pledges an impossible task and watch them squirm. They’d pulled this prank on his pledge class too, and they’d all been in an absolute panic the day before the goat was due to be delivered because, even if they had found one nearby, no one in their right mind would sell a goat to a bunch of college kids.

—-

“Derek!” Finstock yelled up the stairs. “You probably want to get down here, we have a situation!”

Derek sighed and dragged himself away from his game.

“What the hell is so urgent that you had to-”

He stopped dead at the landing. There was a goat in the front hall, casually nibbling on Scott’s shirt.

“What the everloving fuck did you guys do?”

The pledges looked sheepish at his anger, but the annoying one - Bambi - spoke up. “You’re the one who told us to get it, dude!”

“I didn’t think you actually would! No one actually gets a goat! Where the hell did you find it anyway?”

“My parents used to bred goats,” explained Boyd. “I put in a few calls to their friends and we got her for pretty cheap. She’s a runt, I hope that’s okay for Initiation.”

Derek just managed to hold back a face palm. “Of course we don’t use a goat in Initiation. Who the hell does that? That’s like something out of a bad teen movie.”

“Well, whatever. What are we going to do with her now?”

Derek had no fucking clue.

—-

Peter was entirely unhelpful. He just laughed his head off when he arrived at the house.

“Oh this is great. This is too good. I can’t believe you guys actually managed to get a goat.”

“That’s not the point,” growled Derek. “What the fuck are we going to do with a goat?”

“What concerns me more,” said Peter, turning to face the pledges, “ is the fact that you had to assume we were going to kill her, and you got her anyway.”

“So, we aren’t using her in Initiation?” asked Potato.

“No, dumbass. It’s just a stupid pledge prank. Like telling girls to wear pink on Wednesday.”

“Finstock told us /we/ had to wear pink on Wednesday.”

“And it was a /joke/, like the goat.”

“It’s Derek’s fault,” insisted Bambi. “He looked all serious and scowly when he told us. Like he’d rip our throats out with his teeth if we didn’t do it.”

“I still might,” growled Derek.

“Can we keep her?” interrupted Bo Peep.

“What?”

“The goat, can we keep her? Frats can have pets and there’s plenty of room in the yard.” He was kneeling beside the goat in question, petting her while she headbutted him affectionately.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Your pledge name was well chosen. Fine, but you all are taking care of her.”

—-

The goat was a problem. Not only because she made strange noises while Derek was trying to sleep, but because Potato’s girlfriend, the younger Argent girl, and her friend were always bringing people over to admire the goat. The girls had named her Bonnie, after their National President, despite the frat’s objections.

“She’s our goat! We should name her after our own President.”

“What’s his name anyway?” asked Bambi, and seriously, what the hell was Finstock teaching them if not the most basic facts about the frat?

“It’s Jeff,” said Lydia, “which is a terrible name for a lady goat. We’re calling her Bonnie.”

Once Isaac agreed that was the end of it, since Bonnie was pretty much his.

“It’s not a goddamn petting zoo,” Derek complained, as Allison and Lydia showed Bonnie off to some other girls. “Anyway, I hate having /her/ around. Can’t we tell Potato he has to dump her?”

“Hush. I’m not going to break them up if Potato’s happy with her. And as long as she keeps bringing that luscious redhead along, I have no problem with the little Argent. Besides, maybe we can use her. Do a reverse Kate.”

Derek just glared and left for class.

—-

On the walk back, he ran into Bo Peep and Iceman taking Bonnie for her afternoon walk.

“Oh, hey Derek,” said Iceman.

Derek nodded at them and fell into step with them. They weren’t the worst company; he liked Iceman’s quiet wit and Bo Peep was growing on him, especially since he took care of Bonnie so the guys in the house wouldn’t have too.

“Hey Hale!”

Derek turned slowly towards the voice. Chris Argent - president of Alpha Gamma, captain of the basketball team, younger brother of the biggest bitch in the world, boyfriend of the second biggest, and all around douche - was lounging in a pool on AG’s lawn. Seriously? A fucking pool.

“Taking the pets for a walk, are we?”

Derek scowled and shoved at Isaac so he would keep moving.

“Oh, don’t go! Stay and enjoy the pool. You know, ABO should get one too; it would be a good idea to have a large supply of water near your house.”

Derek finally got the pledges moving back towards the house while behind them the AG’s laughed.

“Those assholes,” Derek snarled. “And a fucking pool, I mean, what the fuck? They are seriously pissing me off. A goddamn pool.” He was so angry he couldn’t think straight and he couldn’t shut up. He growled and ranted the whole walk back and then tromped upstairs to shoot zombies until he felt better.

—-

Two days later there was a huge commotion at the AG house. Derek could hear the shouting from his room. He grumbled, apparently studying was going to be a lost cause today, and went downstairs. He grabbed the first person he saw who happened to be Potato, sporting a ridiculously guilty look.

“What the hell is going on?”

Potato swallowed nervously. “It was Boyd’s idea. AG’s pool. We uh, filled it with bubbles.”

Derek stalked off to find Boyd, who was watching the carnage smugly.

“I hear you’re to blame for the cascade of bubbles down the hill.”

“Yep.” Boyd grinned. “Nice huh? We replaced their chlorine with dish soap. Those idiots haven’t been measuring the chemicals, they just toss a bunch in while they refill it with a hose. By the time they realized it was soap, the bubbles had already spilled onto their lawn. It was fantastic.”

It was hard not to smile. “There’s going to be payback for this. They’ll get revenge.”

Boyd smiled, showing his teeth. “We’ll be ready.”

—-

Derek spent the next week bracing for an attack that never came. He kept a fire extinguisher by his door and reprogrammed all his speed dials to emergency contact numbers. He was just starting to relax when Peter slammed into his room.

“They’re behind it, I know they are.”

“What have they done?”

Peter thrust a letter into Derek’s hand and he read through it quickly.

“We have to get rid of the goat? That’s not too bad-”

“It’s not about the goat. It’s about the pledges. She’s theirs. They love her - for some unknown reason. It’ll be demoralizing. They haven’t started to cement as a class yet and I was hoping Bonnie would do that.”

Peter slumped into Derek’s desk chair.

“Maybe we could appeal?”

Peter snorted. “Gerard would never let that happen. You know he hates us already.”

There was nothing Derek could say to that, it was absolutely true. After the fire last year, Gerard had suggested that they just disband, rather than dealing with the insurance and house repairs. They sat in silence for a little while.

When Peter looked up again, his eyes were almost glowing. “She will bring us together. We won’t let them be upset about the fact that Bonnie’s leaving, we’ll make them angry about the fact that AG took her from us. That goat will make them brothers.”

—-

_Dear Mr. Hale,_

_While fraternities are allowed to keep domestic pets at their houses, the administrations feels that a goat must be classified as livestock - not a pet - and thus, should not be allowed on university property. There have been numerous complaints from neighbors about the noise, and concerns about the damage the animal could cause were it to escape._

_Your organization will be fined fifty dollars for animal and noise violations and you have three days to find a suitable home for the goat. You will be charged an additional twenty-five dollars per day that the animal continues to be kept._

_Signed,_

_Dean Gerard_


	4. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some hazing in this one, just FYI. I tried to keep it pretty mild, because I think the ABOs would be pretty relaxed about Pledging, but it is there.

Stiles had been really worried about the whole “roommate” thing, considering he’d never had to share space before. He’d been a jittery mess of nerves the whole drive to school until finally his dad had said, “Pull over, kiddo. Letting you drive is a threat to public safety.”

He shouldn’t have worried; Scott McCall was quite possibly the chillest person on the planet.

Stiles had arrived at their dorm room to find Scott sitting on unopened boxes, and when he spotted Stiles he smiled brightly and said, “Dude, you’re here! Isn’t this awesome? So, what bed do you want? I didn’t want to pick a side in case you had a preference.”

Stiles had had a lot of friends in high school in that he’d talked to everyone, but he’d never really had a best friend. After just a few days of knowing him, he was sure that he and Scott would be friends for life. Scott was like the brother he’d never had. And then they’d rushed and actually were brothers. It was fate (or Stiles’s inability to say no to Scott’s puppy dog face). Whatever worked.

—-

Pledging was not as sucky as popular culture had led Stiles to believe it would be. Which was good, because he was pretty fragile. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle swallowing a goldfish or shooting a horse or anything like that. Anyway, after the whole goat situation the pledge missions had gotten a lot simpler and a lot less likely to result in random livestock. Mostly drinking - which Stiles was pretty decent at - or driving the brothers around - which was irritating, but not likely to result in Stiles dying of embarrassment, or just dying.

Dying of embarrassment was looking like a likely end result of this particular pledge outing though. He could put it on his tombstone: Here Lies Stiles - He blushed so hard that he died.

He wasn’t drunk enough for this, which was of course the point.

“Sing it, Bambi!” yelled Finstock, as Stiles stuttered his way through “Tainted Love.”

Whoever had invented karaoke should be taken out and shot.

He collapsed back into his seat and Scott nudged his shoulder. “That was pretty good, man!”

“Potato, you’re up! We’ve got a great song for you!”

Scott hopped up on stage and waited for the song to start. When the familiar strains of Lady Gaga filled the room, he actually grinned.

“Sweet! I love this song!” He bounced around the stage belting the words of “Bad Romance” enthusiastically, though not always on pitch.

Finstock leaned towards Peter and shouted, “Hazing Potato is like making fun of a puppy.”

Peter barked a laugh and slung an arm around Scott as he sat back down. “Great work, Potato. I hope you end up in my family. We could use a rock star like you.”

“Family?”

“Yeah. Big Brother Reveal is on Monday night. That reminds me, Finstock, we should probably pick who gets who.”

Finstock shrugged, and shoved Greenberg on stage for his rendition of “My Heart Will Go On.”

—-

“What the fuck, Peter? I told you I didn’t want a Little Brother this year.”

“It’ll be fun, Derek. You’ll have a little minion to corrupt all for your very own. Plus you know it’s not a big deal; you just have to make sure he gets laid occasionally and doesn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere. I’m sure you can handle that.”

There was a crack that Stiles was pretty sure was Derek slamming a book onto his desk.

“Dude,” he muttered to Scott as they hurried away from the commotion, “I feel sorry for whoever ends up with Derek as a Big. He’s such a sourwolf.”

“I bet it’ll be Boyd. Those two seem pretty close. Well, as close as Derek gets with any of us.”

“You’re probably right.”

—-

“Okay. Bolinski, your Big is, uh. Fuck. What the fuck does this even say?” Finstock squinted at the scrap of paper in his hand. “Oh right. Derek Hale.”

What.

What?

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter. Bo Peep, your Big is-”

But Stiles had stopped paying attention. His eyes snapped to Derek on the other side of the Chapter Room, who was - of course - glaring at him. Great. There was no way he was going to survive pledging now.

After the meeting, Derek cornered him and Stiles braced himself for Derek to throttle him, but instead he said, “It’s a family tradition to buy your Little a fifth. What do you want?”

Stiles swallowed. “Uh, some Jack Daniels?”

Derek grunted and disappeared upstairs.

“Thanks,” croaked Stiles at his retreating back, overwhelmed by the fact that he was still alive.

—-

A bottle of Jack Daniels was waiting on his desk when Stiles got back from class the next day.

“How the hell did Derek get this in here?” he asked the empty room. “Did he climb in through the damn window?”

—-

“I don’t even know what to do, man!” Stiles wailed, his flailing arms narrowly avoiding smacking Scott in the face. “One minute he’s giving me booze and the next he’s telling me to shut the hell up. Talk about mixed signals!”

“Perhaps you should talk about the legal drinking age, Mr. Stilinski,” chided Professor Harris.

Stiles went beet red and hustled away before resuming his conversation. “Seriously dude. I ran into him this morning in the dining hall and I was just saying thanks for the Jack, and he got all huffy and glarey. It’s not cool. I thought Bigs were supposed to be supportive and shit.”

“He doesn’t know you all that well, maybe he’s just adjusting?,” shrugged Scott.

“You do take some getting used to,” he continued with a grin.

“Yeah, thanks. Kick a guy while he’s down. Best roomie ever.”

Scott just laughed. “He did give you booze though. That’s pretty cool. Fleming just gave me a coozie. And it was one of the ones from Shake Day.”

“I just want to know if he hates me or not.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Huh?” Stiles’s head shot around so fast his neck popped.

And yep, there he was. Mr. Derek “Broody Enigma” Hale, walking right towards them.

“Oh Jesus, uh, hey Derek!”

Derek nodded at them. “Bambi, Potato,” he acknowledged.

“Why do you always call us by our pledge names?” Stiles asked before his brain could catch up to his mouth. “You call Isaac, Boyd, and Erica by their real names. It seems like a double standard is all I’m saying.”

Derek didn’t say anything.

“Not that - I mean, you can call them whatever you want. Bo Peep is a pretty unfortunate nickname and does Erica even have a pledge name?”

“Finstock mostly calls her Ma’am,” offered Scott.

“Right, yeah. Anyway, names are cool. Like Scott. And Stiles. Not my real name, but what I go by. And Derek. That’s a cool name.”

Derek still hadn’t said anything. But he hadn’t told Stiles to shut up either, which Stiles took as permission to keep talking. They reached the edge of the quad and Derek turned to go into the History building.

“Hey Stiles.”

“Yeah?” asked Stiles eagerly.

“You talk too much,” he said heading inside.

“Communication is important in any relationship, Derek!” Stiles yelled after him.

Scott laughed. Then looked pointedly at him after a glance around the quad. The quad full of people. The quad full of people who were now staring at Stiles.

“Oh my god!”

Scott mocked him all the way back to the dorm.

—-

It was 5:15 a.m. and for some reason Boyd was calling him.

“Whaaat?” he whined after jabbing the answer button.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Finstock wants us doing runs, and we’ve got another mission. Get Potato too.”

“He’s at Allison’s.”

“Lucky him. Well, hurry it up.”

When Stiles dragged his ass downstairs a few minutes later, Boyd was waiting along with Erica (who looked entirely too perky), Isaac (who was half asleep), and Derek (who looked his usual sunny self). That guy was freaking everywhere.

“Isn’t this kind of thing illegal? Can I get you arrested for hazing me?”

“No. But what we’re doing next is definitely illegal.”

Stiles groaned. “Do I even want to know?”

“Nope,” said Derek with a cheeky grin.

The next half hour had Stiles getting way more familiar than he’d like with the AG trash bins.

“What the hell are we doing?” Stiles hissed at Boyd as they crouched in the shadows behind the largest dumpster.

“There are two main doors into the house. Derek and Erica are blocking the front one, and we’re barricading this one. On Isaac’s signal we’ll shove this dumpster up against it. Move fast, it’ll be loud.”

“What’s the signal?”

Isaac howled.

“That is,” barked Boyd.

The dumpster slammed into place with a satisfying clang and Stiles paused to do a victory dance. Boyd grabbed his hood and tugged, almost pulling Stiles off his feet.

“We can’t hang around, idiot. Run!”

They ran.

The others joined up with them and together they sprinted back to the ABO house. Between the running and the laughing, Stiles could barely breathe. He leaned against the porch, missed, and slumped onto Derek. Derek steadied him with one hand and shoved him back upright with an exasperated sigh.

Boyd and Isaac started into the house, but Derek shook his head. “They’ll look for us there. C’mon. I’ll buy you guys breakfast.”

He led them around to the side of the house and unlocked one of the sexiest cars Stiles had ever seen. Erica was practically drooling.

“No slobber on my seats,” Derek warned, tapping her lightly under the chin so she shut her mouth.

“If you have such a sweet ride,” Stiles griped as he clambered awkwardly into the backseat, “how come you keep bothering me for rides when I’m on call?”

Derek turned around in his seat to grin at Stiles from behind dark Aviators. “Because it’s fun to torment you.”

A half hour later, Stiles was prepared to forgive Derek for his dickishness since the guy had bought him chocolate chip pancakes. Which were incredible.

He was squeezed between Erica and Isaac in the diner booth. He barely had room to move his arms to eat, and the two of them were using the fact that he was trapped to steal bites despite having their own pancakes, but it was great.

“Chocolate chip pancakes are completely unacceptable for breakfast,” said Derek as he took a bite of the pancakes in question. “I should have made you get fruit ones like everyone else.”

“But then I wouldn’t have this fabulous bounty which I am graciously sharing with everyone at the table,” returned Stiles, prodding Isaac with his fork when he tried to take a piece with too many chocolate chips. “Bad! Those are for Stiles.”

Stiles was 60% sure that was a smile on Derek’s face - even if it was a tiny one. Yes! Progress!

—-

“Gentlemen, perhaps you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you here tonight. Your pledge missions are coming to an end. There’s one more big one, which is-”

There was an expectant stillness in the room. Finstock straightened up and announced, “Tomorrow night you will be streaking the girls’ dorm on central campus.”

Silence.

“Is this another joke?” asked Boyd dubiously.

“Nope.” Finstock looked far too pleased, the sadist.

“But Allison lives in that dorm,” Scott protested in horror.

“Potato, if she hasn’t seen your junk by now, you aren’t the couple I thought you were.”

Isaac opened his mouth to protest as well, but Finstock cut him off. “No complaining. This is an ABO tradition. Just be glad it’s not the dead of winter. When I rushed, I lost a testicle to exposure. So dress appropriately.”

“Dress appropriately for streaking?” gaped Stiles.

“You know what I mean, Bolinski. I want all of you outside the dorm at 8 p.m. sharp. And guys, this is your last pledge mission. You do this, and on Sunday, you become Brothers.”

—-

_Here’s to Brother Stiles, Brother Stiles, Brother Stiles,_   
_Here’s to Brother Stiles, who’s with us tonight._   
_He’s happy, he’s jolly, he’s fucked up by golly!_   
_Here’s to Brother Stiles, who’s with us tonight!_


	5. Semiformal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by true events. There’s some more hazing in this one, just FYI. Enjoy!!

Allison was reading for French when her computer chimed with an incoming Skype call. She squealed when she saw who it was from.

“Kate! Oh my gosh! How are you?”

“Good. How’s my gorgeous baby sister doing?”

“Fine. Great actually! I love it here. I joined a sorority, did you hear?”

“Dad mentioned it. He didn’t say which one though.”

“Theta Zeta. I know it’s not your sorority, but I’m already a legacy at the school, you know. And the girls were super nice. Not that they weren’t nice at PKT-”

Kate laughed brightly. “Chill, girl. It’s fine. You’re your own person, it’s great! I bet you’re having to beat the guys off with a stick. Or is Chris doing that for you?”

Allison blushed. “Well, actually, there is this one guy.”

“Just one? I’m ashamed.” Kate smirked at her. “Tell me all about him.”

“His name’s Scott. He’s a total sweetheart. Almost too nice to be real, you know? Except he’s totally genuine.”

“Sounds like a catch. What’s his last name?”

“McCall.”

She could hear clicking from Kate’s side of the call. “Hang on, are you looking him up on Facebook?”

“Duh.”

“Kate!”

“Gotta make sure he’s good enough for my baby sister. Oooh, he’s cute. Look at those adorable brown eyes.”

Allison had buried her head in her hands. “I hate you, Kate.”

“Oh, Shake Day photos. He’s in a frat?”

Allison’s head snapped up. She could see Kate’s expression darken as she clicked through the album. “Does Chris know?”

“Chris doesn’t own me,” Allison protested. “But yeah, he does. Look, I know there’s some sort of stupid frat drama between AG and ABO, but it has nothing to do with Scott and me.”

Kate looked like she wanted to say something else, but she changed the subject and Allison told her about classes and her dorm with relief.

—-

The night was cool and pleasant. Allison had a nice buzz going from Lydia’s excellently mixed margaritas, and Scott was tucked around her on the porch swing. It should have been easy to forget about her conversation with Kate from earlier, but she couldn’t get it out of her head.

Allison and Chris had agreed - well actually Allison had just told him - that they wouldn’t hang out all the time. She was going to do college her own way and if that happened to intersect with her brother’s day to day life then fine, but he wasn’t allowed to keep an eye on her round the clock.

She knew all about the AG/ABO feud, but it was just petty frat politics. It wasn’t like this was Romeo and Juliet: College Edition!  
Allison shivered and curled up closer to Scott, turning her attention back to the party.

Scott had brought his roommate Stiles along and he was entertaining everyone with tales of Bonnie the goat. “She was a good ewe,” he said wistfully.

“Doe,” corrected Lydia.

“Huh?”

“The term for a female goat is a doe. Or a nannie. Not an ewe.”

Lydia was fiddling absentmindedly with a Rubix cube someone had left on the porch.

“Can you actually solve that?” Stiles asked, reaching for it.

“Of course,” Lydia snapped. “In under two minutes.”

“Prove it.”

“Fine.” Lydia stood up and stepped up onto her chair. “Ladies and gentlemen. I will now solve this Rubix cube in three minutes or less!”

“You just said two,” pointed out Stiles.

“Cut me some slack, Stilinski,” she said, swaying slightly as she shook a finger at him. “I’m drunk right now. Two minutes is a sober time.”

Allison mixed up the cube and Stiles pulled up a stopwatch on his phone. Lydia fumbled a few times in the beginning, shaking her head and going back a few steps, but then she seemed to remember the trick of it, her fingers moving quickly and surely. Allison was riveted; she had never seen someone solve a Rubix cube before.

With forty-five seconds left, Lydia was looking a little worried. Stiles’s eyes were flicking between the time and Lydia. At ten seconds, he started a countdown and the whole porch joined in. Lydia was close, Allison could see, and she wanted so desperately for her friend to do this.

“Five - four - three -”

“Done!” Lydia thrust the completed cube into the air in triumph. She hopped off the chair and tossed her hair over her shoulder with a smug look.

Stiles just gaped. “Marry me,” he blurted.

Scott started laughing at his friend, and the movement shook Allison. She started laughing too and Scott tightened his arm around her. Forget about Kate and Chris, she thought, I’m finding my own place.

—-

The common room was Allison’s favorite place to study in the evening, because for the most part it was nice and quiet, but every so often someone would come through with a welcome distraction. Tonight that distraction was Scott just outside the glass door looking extremely unhappy. She waved at him, but he didn’t return it, just gave her his saddest puppy dog eyes.

She hopped off the couch and went over to let him in.

“Hey there!” she said brightly, “I didn’t know you were coming ov- oh, hey Stiles.”

Stiles flashed a tiny smile at her, but didn’t say anything. Clearly something was terribly wrong.

“You two look like you’re about to be taken out and shot. What’s going on?”

“It’s a pledge mission,” Scott mumbled miserably. “We’re here to streak the dorm.”

Allison couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. “Really? That’s hilarious!”

Scott looked even more pitiful.

“I mean, that’s awful. I’m so sorry you have to do that.”

“I wouldn’t mind so much, it’s just - it’s your dorm, and -”

“Don’t worry,” she said, leaning closer to whisper in Scott’s ear, “I’ll only look at you.”

He whimpered.

Allison let them and the other pledges in, and immediately ran upstairs to alert Lydia.

“Oh, this’ll be fun. They have some good looking pledges.”

Allison gave her a scandalized look. “Don’t let Jackson hear you say that.”

“What? I’m allowed to appreciate the male form. From a distance of course.”

“Of course.”

The ABO pledge trainer came by, loudly announcing the run and encouraging the girls to come enjoy the show.

It went by quickly, and Allison was glad of that, for Scott’s sake. The pledges ran up the stairs and then back down to collect their clothes and their dignity. Allison followed them down and tugged Scott close for a kiss once he was decent.

“I survived,” he said.

“Yep. Good thing too, I didn’t want to have to find a new semiformal date on such short notice. You said you were fine with rollerskates, right?”

“Totally, I’m awesome at rollerskating.”

—-

The skating rink was shadowy, with the only illumination provided by lurid, multi-colored lights flashing off the disco ball. The DJ was playing the Top 40 Hits from twenty years ago. Chris had been creeping around the bus pick-up, glaring at Scott like he thought the guy was literally about to go crazy and kill everyone, which had put a definite damper on the start of the evening. But he wasn’t here now, and Allison had a bag of wine in her purse and a cute boy on her arm, and she was determined to have a good time.

She and Lydia snagged a table and immediately pulled out their drinks.

“Bottoms up, Scott,” she said cheerfully, tapping their red Solo cups together. “Finish that, and then we can get our skates.”

There was a burst of laughter and applause as the first person out on the floor was also the first person to wipe out.

“Come on, Jackson. Let’s get out there.”

Jackson started to protest that he hadn’t finished his drink, but Lydia rolled her eyes, snatched the drink in question, chugged it, and dragged her boyfriend off to the skate rental room.

Allison turned to Scott who grinned and showed her his empty glass. “Rule One of college,” he said. “If someone gives you free food or booze, you take it.”

Allison stretched up to kiss him. “Alright. Let’s skate.”

Despite his earlier assurances, Scott couldn’t really skate. At all. It would have been sad if he wasn’t so adorable.

They managed one pretty much successful loop, so Allison took pity on Scott and said she needed another drink.

The night passed in an increasingly blurry whirl.

After an unfortunate incident with a wall, Allison left Scott at the table and went to dance with Lydia and her other sisters. The music was cheesy and everyone looked ridiculous in their cocktail dresses and suits and roller skates, but it was an absolute blast. And then Jackson ruined it.

Allison had skated back to the table to get some more wine, only to find Jackson up in Scott’s face saying, “Just watch it, McCall. We’ve got our eye on you and your whole stupid fraternity.”

“We’re the ones who should be keeping an eye on you,” retorted Scott. “You keep TPing our house. You got Bonnie taken away from us!”  
Jackson opened his mouth to shout back, but Allison stepped in front of him.

“Guys, really? Can we not do this here?”

“Do what? We were just talking. Isn’t that right, Scott?”

“Seriously, Jackson,” said Allison, “you’re being a dick. Just leave it.”

Jackson grumbled, but he did skate off towards the floor.

It was such a small nudge that it really could have been accidental; Allison didn’t know. But Scott wasn’t the steadiest on his skates, so when Jackson bumped into him on his way past, Scott fell down. Hard.

Allison immediately reached down to help him up. “Oh my god, Scott, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing injured but my dignity,” he laughed, waving her hand away. He leaned on his left hand to push himself upright, and collapsed back with a little whimper. “Actually, maybe not.”

Allison got Scott off the floor and sat him down so she could look at the injury. “Let me see,” she demanded, taking his wrist and feeling for swelling. “Can you move your fingers?”

He did as he was asked, and moved his hand and wrist through a series of little stretches at her urging.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” she finally declared. “But let’s get it wrapped up and find some painkillers, okay?”

She kissed him on the temple and skated over to the main desk.

The extremely sketchy guy lounging against the slushie machine gave her a bored look. “Yeah?”

“Do you have a first aid kit? We need some sort of wrap and some painkillers.”

He rummaged in the back office and returned with a battered red case. “Help yourself.”

There was a strip of gauze that would work nicely, but no pain killers.

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re allowed to keep ‘em. For insurance reasons or whatever.” He thought for a second. “The DJ might have something on him.”

“Because that’s not creepy at all,” muttered Allison, but she went to check anyway.

The DJ booth was in the far corner of the building and there were next to no lights. The DJ looked even sketchier than the guy working up front.

“Hey,” she said, tapping on the window of the booth.

“Oh hey, what’s up?” He asked.

“They said up front that you might have some painkillers. We’ve got a minor injury.”

“That sucks, man.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t have anything on me right now. Sorry.”

“No problem.” Allison turned to skate back to Scott and suggest he just drink away the pain.

“Oh wait!” The DJ was rummaging in his pockets. With a triumphant sound, he pulled out a handful of loose pills. “Uh…” he picked out two and examined them closely. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Allison took them dubiously.

“I promise they’re not roofies,” he said with what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. “Unless you want some.”

“NO. No. These’ll be fine thanks.” She skated back to the party as quickly as she could.

Scott laughed when she recounted the story while wrapping his wrist.

“So, I really hope you don’t end up drugged because of this,” she said, passing over the pills.

“I trust you to get me home with my virtue intact,” he replied.

Allison leaned against him as they sat watching the others skate around, his non-injured hand around her shoulder.

“Hey Scott?”

“Mmm?”

“Don’t let this frat stuff drive you crazy, okay? It should be fun, there’s no reason to get all worked up over it.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, which wasn’t really an answer at all.

—-

_Take your man around the corner,_  
 _When the lights are low._  
 _Put your left hand on his shoulder,_  
 _And the right one down below._  
 _When he starts to shake and quiver,_  
 _And he shouts with glee: TZ!_  
 _Tell him that’s the secret handshake_  
 _Of our dear old Theta Zs!_


	6. Initiation

If pressed, Erica would probably say she joined ABO on a dare. Which was technically true.

The day after Shake Day, she considered just keeping the shirt and calling it a fun adventure, but for some reason, she’d gotten out of bed and gone down to the house. The pledges - the _other_ pledges - were clearing the yard of scattered beer cans and other debris.

Right.

She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, grabbed a trash bag, and got to work.

If she was gonna rush a fraternity, she was gonna do it _right_.

—-

“What’s it like, being in a fraternity?”

Erica gave Stiles an incredulous look.

“Haa. Right. Stupid question. I meant-”

“I know what you meant, Bambi.”

He gave her an expectant look and she took advantage of his distraction to bust out a power move and kick his head off.

“Fuck!” he groaned and she preened.

While he reset the game, she answered him. “It’s honestly been a great decision. Everyone here is cool and the hazing isn’t that sucky. Especially compared to, did you hear what PKT did to their pledges?”

“Yeah. Banana Blow-Jobs. Not my idea of a good time at all.”

“Seriously. I’d much rather have to deal with a bunch of kids…and I’m not just talking about Bonnie.”

Stiles started to protest, but the game started again, and all his attention was absorbed with trying to survive against her mad skills.

—-

Erica staggered up the hill, not one hundred percent sure how she was still upright.

She and Isaac had started up the hill leaning against Boyd, but he had gotten heavier and heavier the higher they went.

“Can we take a break?” grumbled Erica.

“The house is _right there_ ,” whined Isaac.

Boyd just sat down in slow motion.

Erica flopped down beside him and put her head on his shoulder. The middle of the road wasn’t the safest place to sit down, but it was a quiet night, and Erica was too drunk to really worry about it. Isaac nudged her with his toe.

“Ericaaa, I just want to go back to the house. Come ooon.”

She swatted at his ankle, but he was a surprisingly nimble drunk. She lunged forward, trying to catch him.

“Oops,” hiccuped Boyd, tilting sideways into the space that Erica had vacated.

Erica and Isaac watched in fascinated horror as he started to roll down the hill, picking up speed, before crashing into a ditch at the bottom.

“Boyd?” Isaac called down the hill. “You okay?”

The hysterical laughter that followed meant that Boyd was at least alive, though Erica wasn’t positive about his chances for being free of head injuries. With a heavy sigh, she started back down the hill.

They got the still giggling Boyd out of the ditch and started back up the hill.

“Like fucking Sisyphus,” grumbled Erica, which started Boyd laughing again.

It was a bit of a miracle that they got him back to the house in one (mostly) undamaged piece. Finstock was not pleased.

“One more day. You’re only pledges for one more fucking day. I really didn’t want to have any more pledges die on me. Alright Iceman, how many fingers am I holding up?” he asked, leaning into Boyd’s face.

“Four?” he said tentatively, his eyes crossing as he tried to focus on the fingers moving in front of him.

“Say two.”

“Two?”

“Perfect. Let him sleep it off. I hope he’s not too hungover to deal with Initiation.”

—-

Erica was prepared for someone to start shit when she showed up for Initiation. But Finstock just handed her a blindfold and sat her down with the other pledges. From the Chapter Room next door they could hear muffled thuds and whispers and - was that a hammer? There was a crash and a string of curses. Someone laughed nervously, but Erica wasn’t sure who it was. They stopped quickly though.

Finstock came in.

“Right, now is the time to be thinking about brotherhood and what it means to you, or some shit. Man, fuck if I know. I was so high when I got initiated.”

He had them in silence for a few more minutes and then made them put on their blindfolds and shuffle into the next room.

There was a strong smell of smoke, and the unsettling noise of a large group of people trying to be very quiet and still. Someone coughed.

“The candidates may remove their blindfolds.”

The room was mostly illuminated by candlelight, and Peter Hale was in front of them wearing an honest-to-God fur-lined robe.

“If you seek entrance to the Alpha Beta Omega Pack, say in unison, ‘I do.’”

“I do,” the pledges intoned.

“In this first stage of Initiation you must discard the trappings of your old lives. If you renounce all ties to other organizations and commit yourselves to this brotherhood, say in unison, ‘I do.’”

The pledges dutifully repeated it.

“Replace your blindfolds and hold out your hand.”

Erica risked an eye roll once her blindfold was back in place. This was all a little ridiculous.

“The candidates must remain completely silent for the next stage of Initiation. Any speech will result in a dismissal from the proceedings and the fraternity.”

There were several long minutes of silence, broken by a few muffled gasps, but evidently nothing bad enough to warrant a dismissal. Someone - she assumed it was Peter - took her hand. He pushed her sleeve up a bit and then - _motherfucker_. She had to bite back a curse. Those were _teeth_ in her _wrist_. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the bite had broken skin. _Goddammit_.

She rubbed at the bite when he released her wrist. No blood, but it was definitely going to bruise.

“Remove your blindfolds.”

She tugged the cloth down and inspected the nearly perfect circle of teeth marks on her skin.

“You have now been marked as members of the Pack. Step forward and sign your name to signify your acceptance of the mark and all that it signifies.”

After they had all signed the cheap journal with a picture of a howling wolf in one corner, Peter explained the significance of the ritual, and the meaning of the crest, and taught them all the secret handshake. He had them put the blindfolds back on one more time, and Erica could hear them clearing the room.

“Alright. Blindfolds off. Congrats guys, you’re ABOs now.”

The brothers howled at them and pressed beers into their hands. Erica cracked hers open gratefully and downed half of it.

“Not regretting your decision, I hope, Miss Reyes.”

She glared at Peter. “You _bit_ me, you motherfucker.”

Peter laughed. “And you took it very well. We’ve had people scream before.”

And that was that. Erica had joined a fraternity.

—-

She was hot. Like sweltering hot, which shouldn’t have been possible for mid-October, but apparently totally was when you were in the middle of a (for lack of a better word) puppy pile of hungover frat bros. And not even in the fun way. With a sigh, Erica began the process of extracting herself.

She shoved Greenberg off the couch he’d somehow managed to snag and curled up on it herself.

Someone shook her awake not half an hour later.

“Whaaat?”

“Come on.” It was Derek. “I’m going to get breakfast stuff. I need a hand.”

“Fine.” She stretched hugely and followed Derek downstairs.

It wasn’t early, but the house was absolutely silent. She had never heard it so quiet.

“It’s weird isn’t it?” he asked, noticing her discomfort.

“Yeah. It’s like, quiet. _Too_ quiet,” she joked, deepening her voice.

His lips twitched, like he was about to crack a smile and she had to stop herself from fistpumping.

Derek was fumbling with his keys and ran into her when she stopped, staring in horror at his car.

“What? Come on, Erica, move.”

“Uh…”

Derek’s car was absolutely trashed. The windows had been smashed, the paint scratched, and the tires slashed.

Derek fucking _roared_. “Those motherfuckers! It’s AG! I know it. We’ll get them back. We’ll get them back _good_.”

There went any hope Erica had of a nice, quiet college life.

—-

_President: I, state your name._   
_Pledges: I, state your name._   
_President: Do hereby pledge allegiance to the frat._   
_Pledges: Do hereby pledge allegiance to the frat._   
_President: With liberty and fraternity for all._   
_Pledges: Amen._   
_\- Animal House (1978)_


	7. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to be warning for underage drinking in a Frat AU? Well, here's your warning. Again, based on some true stories, though these are all of the "friend of a friend" variety of true story.

Boyd had to admit it was a good plan. Stilinski was a devious motherfucker.

The sounds of LMFAO filtered through from the AG dance floor, loud enough to mask the sounds of cutlery being loaded into Stiles’s Jeep. Erica was by the door, acting as both lookout and distraction. She made a ‘keep going’ gesture when Boyd looked over at her. He smirked and kept emptying the cupboards.

“The cups,” hissed Stiles. “Don’t forget the cups, all of them.”

Boyd dropped a stack of “Alpha Gamma Homecoming ‘07” cups into the Jeep on top of the rest of the fraternity’s dishes.

“I think that’s it. Come on, let’s go.”

Boyd hopped into the car with Scott and Erica, while Stiles started it up.

“Come on, come on.”

He pulled away with a squeal of tires, and they raced away from the house.

“What are we gonna do with all this stuff?” asked Scott.

Stiles caught Boyd’s eye in the mirror.

“The lake?” Boyd suggested.

“The lake,” Stiles agreed.

\---

Boyd had grown up listening to his dad’s stories about ABO. Most of them had been very heavily edited until Boyd was in high school, and the unedited versions only came out on the rare occasions when he’d had a few beers and his wife wasn’t around. Boyd’s mom had never entirely approved of the whole fraternity thing.

His favorite story was the only one he was pretty sure wasn’t just exaggerated, but flat out invented.

The story started: “In my junior year, a convoy of tanks was going to be rolling through campus. The police made a huge deal of it - warning students to stay off the roads and out of the way.” Boyd’s dad always laughed at this point. “Well, of course we couldn’t pass that up. A couple of us got police uniforms, and stole some traffic barricades, and set up our own route. We led ‘em out these little back roads that ended up in an abandoned warehouse district that was too tight for them to turn around. We booked it after that, of course. Very important not to hang around and get caught - remember that. Anyway, it was all over the news the next day; they’d had to demolish one of the buildings to get ‘em out. Caused some damage to a few of the tanks too.

"The deans and the cops could never prove exactly who had done it, but they knew it was one of the frats, so they put all of us on suspension. Such a good time.”

Boyd’s father always got nostalgic at that point - moreso the more he’d had to drink - and would start singing frat chants until his wife eventually made him go to bed.

As much as he’d enjoyed the stories, Boyd had never felt any desire to have his own misadventures - however fraternally bonding they might be. His plan for college was simple: keep his head down and get on with life. His plan had not included chucking stolen property into a filthy lake with a kid who answered to both Stiles and Bambi. Boyd wasn’t sure which name was worse.

When the last of the ripples had disappeared, Stiles drove them back to the party at the ABO house. Peter met them in the parking lot, his eyes glinting and the fangs of his vampire costume showing.

“It’s done?”

“It’s done,” Stiles responded, and Peter clapped him on the shoulder.

“Great work. Isaac’s upstairs with your costumes.”

\---

Isaac also had drinks for them, which they downed enthusiastically as they got dressed. Boyd had never been part of a group costume before and it was pretty awesome, even if he wasn’t a huge Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fan. They didn’t have elaborate costumes - just green shirts and pants, and the appropriately colored strips of fabric to go with their weapons - so they had a bit of a wait while Erica got ready.

“Isaac, these eye holes are tiny,” Scott complained, trying to find an angle that allowed him to see out of the orange mask.

“I told you guys arts and crafts weren’t my thing. I would have been much more useful at the stealing shit part of the evening,” he retorted, jabbing Scott in the side with his sai, but he did pass the scissors over.

Boyd left them to their arguing and wandered over to the bathroom to see how close to done Erica was.

“Would you help me with this?” she asked, waving a packet of fake blood in his face. “Add some to the bite on my arm while I do my face.”

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” he asked, as he started dabbing fake blood around the painted on teeth marks.

“I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be a hipster, or a zombie, so I said fuck it, and decided to go as both.” She flashed him a toothy grin, made even more sinister by the blood trickling down from the corners of her mouth.

“Works for me. I like your shirt.”

Erica laughed and adjusted the artfully shredded Three Wolf Moon t-shirt. “Someone in my dorm was throwing it out, can you believe it? Wasting such a fine garment.” She shook her head sadly, and applied the last few drips of blood. “Done! Let’s party!”

Boyd picked up his katana and tied on his blue mask (Scott was right, the eye holes were too small), and Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael escorted a zombie hipster downstairs.

\---

“What the fuck is Finstock wearing?”

“I think-” Scott gaped. “I think he’s a basketball playing wolfman.”

“Do you know nothing about 80s cult classics, Scott? Seriously, we need to work on that. He’s Scott Howard, you know, the Teen Wolf.”

Stiles exclaimed in disbelief at their vacant expressions and promised a pledge class movie night to “educate them on good cinema.” Boyd decided that he would have too much homework that night.

It was a Drink or Treat Party, and various brothers were wandering the house handing out mystery shots. Boyd took the first shot he was offered eagerly, and almost spit it back out.

“That’s disgusting! What the hell is that?”

“Everclear and lemon juice,” the guy said with a smirk, before going off to find more unsuspecting victims.

Stiles leaned towards him conspiratorially. “Derek told me he’s got Skittle vodka shots, so I’d stick to that. Or the keg.”

“Keg!” cried Erica in triumph, and dragged him off to get more alcohol.

A few hours and many drinks later, Erica and Boyd were trying to dance without any of the blood from her costume getting on his - a rather unsuccessful endeavour. Boyd finally said, fuck it, and pulled her closer to him. She laughed brightly.

“I hope this stuff doesn’t stain.”

“I’ll just tell everyone I was in a fight,” he replied, “A badass, ninja fight.”

She laughed again and threw her arms around his neck. “You are pretty badass,” she murmured into his ear.

“Aw, dude, c’mon! You’re brothers; this is just all kinds of wrong.”

“Just because you’re not getting any, Stilinski,” Erica snapped without turning to look at him.

“I’m serious. It’s like incest or something - fratcest.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Stiles shrugged and kept dancing past them.

Erica leaned in again. “You want to take this outside?”

“Sure.”

It was cold out, but it was refreshing after the heat and crush of people in the house. There was already a couple on one of the couches in the lawn - and how was that even working? The guy only had eye holes cut into his box. Though that minor detail didn’t seem to be stopping his girlfriend, who was dressed as a squid. The other couch was being dragged back behind the house by two brothers, and Boyd could distantly hear someone shouting, “Bring more couches! The fire’s dying!” He grinned. These were going to make great stories to tell his own kids someday.

Tonight was apparently not his night though. Erica was tugging him down the steps and off towards the parking lot, when Allison and Lydia showed up, and she ditched him to go exclaim over their costumes. Allison was a scarily accurate Katniss Everdeen (bow and everything, and Boyd was pretty sure she knew how to use it), and Lydia was an extremely stylish Little Mermaid.

The three girls had a strange friendship, Boyd mused. He was pretty sure it was all at Allison’s urging since Lydia and Erica usually seemed less than thrilled about the whole thing - although, less-than-thrilled was sort of Lydia’s default state at the ABO house.

Boyd leaned back against the porch, his attention divided between the chatting girls and the sounds of the party inside. A police car drove by slowly, but it was just doing its rounds and didn’t stop.

“We’re going to get drinks,” said Erica, squeezing Boyd’s shoulder. “Want a refill?”

“Nah. I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Lame!”

After they’d gone, Boyd heard shouting down the street. He strolled out to the end of the lawn and looked down the hill. Police lights were flashing near the AG house, and even at this distance Boyd could hear Jackson Whittemore complaining that his father would hear about this. He walked closer, trying to figure out what was going on. When he realized, he had to stifle a laugh so he wouldn’t get caught.

One officer was loading cartons of eggs and rolls of toilet paper into the car, while the other lectured a pack of Alpha Gammas.

“Look boys, I know you think this sort of thing is all fun and games, but someone’s gotta deal with the mess after you guys have had a laugh. Now, I don’t feel like dealing with the mess, or the paperwork involved in arresting you idiots, so I’ll just take this stuff off your hands, and you’ll head back to your house and stay there. Okay?”

The cop gave them a hard look, and the guys muttered rebelliously, but they did head back towards the AG house. Boyd ducked away quickly before he got caught too, and hurried back to the house to share the good news.

\---

Scott and Isaac were leaning against each other, laughing hard, and Stiles clapped Boyd on the back. “We done good, man. Tonight was a victory for the forces of righteousness.”

“We got lucky, asshole,” cautioned Boyd, though he was fighting a grin himself. “They’ll tell the cops or the administration about the theft, and  
they’ll try and link it back to us.”

“You don’t think Argent’ll try and handle it himself?”

“He does like to handle his own shit,” Derek agreed.

“He’s pretty close with Dean Gerard though,” pointed out Peter. “We oughta be careful for a while; keep things on the level. But you’re right Bambi, we won tonight.”

\---

All Boyd could say about the next morning was that he wasn’t as hungover as he could have been. He dragged himself into work and was grateful for the fact that the office was dark and quiet. He heard someone making coffee and went in to snag some before the girls who worked in Res Life drank it all. He paused before he walked into the kitchen. Dean Gerard was in there with - fuck - Chris Argent. He ducked back before either of them spotted him.

Chris spoke in a hushed tone that Boyd could barely hear over the drip of the coffee maker. “Look, you know I like to handle things in house, but this is getting bigger. Some of my boys almost got arrested last night when they hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“Chris, I understand your concern, but they were caught red handed with tools of vandalism. There’s not much I can do about that.”

“The ABOs stole from us. I know it. You can help us get them kicked off campus. Like you promised.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The coffee machine beeped and Boyd heard the soft sounds of two mugs being filled. There was the sound of sipping and then Gerard gave a contented sigh. “Fresh ground really is so much better than instant, don’t you agree? The genuine thing is always better than something fraudulent.”

\---

_Frat Boy Josh: Halloween isn't about thrills, chills, and funny costumes; it's about getting laid._   
_Frat Boy Edward: Is there any holiday that's not about getting laid?_   
_Frat Boy Josh: Arbor Day._   
_\- Fear, Itself - Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 1999_


	8. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! How'd this plot and back story get in here?
> 
> A bit of terminology: an "independent" is a person who's not in a fraternity or sorority. Frequently referred to as "Goddamn independents" or "GDIs."

After the complete disaster that was the Halloween Mixer, Chris decided it might be time to go to the proper authorities. At nine the next morning he was sitting outside the Greek Life office, waiting for Dean Gerard to get in.

The man didn’t even blink when he finally arrived, just said, “I thought I might be seeing you soon. Would you like some coffee, Chris?”

Chris waited while Gerard unlocked his door, set down his briefcase, turned on his computer, walked to the little kitchenette, and started to make a pot of coffee. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Look, you know I like to handle things in house, but this is getting bigger. Some of my boys almost got arrested last night when they hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“Chris, I understand your concern, but they were caught red handed with tools of vandalism. There’s not much I can do about that.”

“The ABOs stole from us,” insisted Chris, frustrated by the man’s calmness. “I know it. You can help us get them kicked off campus.” His voice dropped lower, “Like you promised.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Gerard poured them each a mug of coffee and took a sip of his, a rapturous expression on his face. “Fresh ground really is so much better than instant, don’t you agree? The genuine thing is always better than something fraudulent.”

Chris felt himself relaxing as he sipped at his own coffee. He knew Gerard would come through for Alpha Gamma.

\---

“Alright, now let’s see, currently the only police involvement has been against your boys,” Gerard said, settling in at his desk. “That needs to change. What I need is concrete proof that ABO has been involved in something illegal enough to revoke their charter, or at least kick them off-campus. I’m not just talking underage drinking and common sources here - God knows all of you fraternities are guilty of that - I mean something major. Violent crime would be best of course, but we’ll take what we can get.”

Chris nodded along, feeling like he ought to be taking notes.

“Is there any way to tie this cutlery theft back to them?”

“We haven’t found any witnesses. Certainly not any sober ones.”

“I’ll send out an email asking for the return of your dishes, see if we get any information that way. Don’t worry, Chris. You know I’m on your side in this, but concrete proof is what I need. No matter how you get that proof.” Gerard gave him a significant look, and Chris smiled with growing comprehension. Gerard leaned back in his chair, returning the smile. “So, how’s our basketball team looking this season?”

\---

Chris was leaving class a few hours later when he saw a familiar - though not entirely pleasant - sight: Derek Hale storming away from his older sister.

“Kate!” he called, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t miss Homecoming now could I?”

“Hmph. Already back to bothering the ABOs I see,” he said cooly.

“Just catching up with an old friend,” she grinned. “I swung by Gerard’s office. He said you were having some problems with the ‘wolfpack.’ Can’t keep ‘em in line without me can you, little brother?”

“It’s fine. I’m handling it.”

Kate laughed. “Sure you are. Come on, you know I always have good ideas. Take advantage of my genius while you’ve got it. Besides, Gerard gave me some advice that he definitely couldn’t give to a student.”

Despite himself, Chris’s interest was piqued. He and Kate were very different, and hadn’t always gotten along, but she was rather brilliant and knew just the right ways to turn people to her advantage. It was a skill he was still perfecting. The problem was that her definitions of “legal” and “a good time” were rather skewed. He considered for a moment, and then relented, “Fine. I’ll at least listen to your advice. Come on, we can talk at the house.”

As they were walking towards the AG house, they turned a corner and ran across Allison and Scott.

Chris would never understand how the female vocal chords could make such terrifyingly high pitches. Judging by Scott’s expression, neither could he. While the girls caught up, Chris eyed Scott suspiciously. He looked nervous, but no more than a boyfriend meeting his girlfriend’s older siblings might reasonably be. He certainly didn’t look like a master cat burglar.

“So,” said Kate, with a wide smile. “You must be Scott. Allison’s told me loads about you. Though Facebook photos do not capture those adorable brown eyes. I just want to eat you up!”

Scott gulped nervously.

“Are you here all weekend?” Allison asked, apparently of the opinion that ignoring the awkwardness would mean it didn’t exist.

“Yep. Told my boss I had a family thing.” Kate laughed. “So we’ll have plenty of time to hang out. Don’t let us old folks keep you kids from having a good time.” She waved them off with a smile, but the second they were out of sight she glared. “I don’t like it. Why didn’t you set her up with one of your pledges?”

Chris shrugged. “She met him first. Anyway, you know Allison. Do you really think she’d listen to me about something like this?”

“Yeah. Why’d it have to be a fucking ABO though? Those guys are the worst.”

“Tell me about it.”

A wave of cursing hit them as they opened the door to the AG house. Someone else was laughing their head off. Chris heard Danny say, “Jackson, for someone who’s good at sports, you suck at the Wii.”

“Whatever, Mahealani. Just because you’re a computer genius or something.”

Danny’s laughter got louder as he came out of the room where they were playing. “Oh, hey Chris.” He continued into the kitchen and then called back. “Uh. Where did all the cups go?”

Chris sighed angrily. “The fucking ABOs took them all. All of our dishes, actually.”

Danny laughed as he joined them in the main room. “That’s quite brilliant, actually. How’d they get away with it?”

Jackson fidgeted, and threw a look at Chris. “At the Halloween mixer. They snuck in somehow. We tried to get them back, but the police caught us.”

Danny couldn’t stop grinning. “That’s what I get for staying in on a Thursday, I guess. I miss all the fun.”

“It wasn’t fun,” spat Jackson. “It was a gross injustice that will not stand.”

“Alright, Batman, whatever you say. Is there a plan, Chris? How are we escalating the rivalry this time?”

“No plan just yet. We’re working on it.”

Danny and Jackson returned to their game, and Chris led Kate up to his room. He hadn’t really wanted to live in the frat house, but he’d used his Presidential prerogative to get a double all to himself, so he couldn’t really complain.

“Nice digs,” Kate said approvingly, dropping onto his futon. “Alright. So, plan. You didn’t hear this from me, and I didn’t hear it from Gerard. They need to get caught with something serious, right? But the offense doesn’t have to be _real_.”

Chris frowned.

“It’s hard to catch someone doing something illegal. First you have to catch them, then you have to call the police, who have to come over and also catch them, leaving plenty of time to hide the illegal activities. Unless you manipulate circumstances so that they’re caught unawares.”

“You’re saying to frame them.”

“Exactly. Then you control the entire situation.”

Chris leaned back in his chair and considered. “It’s risky. There’s always the chance whoever sets them up will get caught.”

Kate shrugged. “So use people unrelated to the frat. Independents are good - just about the only thing they’re good for.”

“I assume you had a crime in mind?”

“Cocaine.”

“What?”

“No look. It’s perfect. You just plant some in a couple rooms - preferably some main ones so that the whole fraternity will be implicated and not just select brothers - and then tell Gerard or the police or whoever that you saw someone using at one of their parties and you’re concerned about the possible hard drug usage of a group that is supposed to be an upright, philanthropic organization.”

Chris studied his sister carefully. “You’re quite devious, you know that, right?”

Kate grinned at him. “Of course I do. So you like the plan?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a good plan.”

“Want me to set it up while I’m here?”

“Not yet. Let me think on it for a while.”

\---

Chris frowned as he loaded plastic cups and utensils into his cart. He would have had to buy it anyway for their Homecoming parties, but it rankled that he had to buy so much.

Peter Hale passed him in the aisle and didn’t hold back a sly smile. “That’s a lot of cups there. Have you not got enough at your house?” His tone was totally pleasant, but his eyes glittered sharply.

“Oh, you know, always good to be prepared. You never know what might,” he paused, “go wrong.”

“Absolutely. But you shouldn’t overwork yourself. You’re looking a little stressed, Chris,” said Peter, leaning over the handle of his cart towards him. “I hope you’re taking time to enjoy senior year. I know I am. I must say, I’m rather glad you ended up with the basketball captaincy. Now I’ve got more time to focus on my brothers, and what’s most important to me.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but Peter had already swept off, wrenching his cart to make a sharp turn around the corner. Chris sighed and dumped a few more things of Solo cups into his cart.

\---

Chris’s empty beer can soared through the air towards the recycling bin, and he fist pumped when it made it in without touching the edges. The brothers who noticed cheered.

“Jackson! Beer me,” he demanded, and the freshman passed him another can from their modified Coke machine.

Friday had been one of the longest days of Chris’s life, but it was finally evening and the Alumni Pregame was in full swing. It was always one of Chris’s favorite parties; there was something wonderful about partying with a bunch of old guys. He’d already been drunkenly offered three jobs and two guys wouldn’t shut up about their daughters who were just about Chris’s age.

‘This is what senior year should be like,’ he thought, surveying his domain as he sipped on his beer. ‘Not all this fucking frat drama.’

There’d always been tension between the frats. Even as a pledge he’d been warned about the ABOs and their history of unrestrained douchbaggery. He’d ignored it then. After all, his roommate had gone ABO, and Pete Hale was a fun guy.

They were on the basketball team together, and shared a couple classes, and just generally got along. They’d drifted obviously - business and classics majors didn’t have a ton of overlapping classes - but they’d been teammates and sort of friends. Until the fire. It all started with the fucking fire. Peter couldn’t prove that they had done it, but Chris could never prove that they hadn’t. Then Peter had missed a bunch of practice and a few games dealing with Nationals and insurance and all, and Chris had been made team captain. So that was the icing on the cake and the end of that friendship.

Chris was thinking about Peter’s face when they’d gotten their bids, and when they’d won championships their freshman year, and when Peter had accosted him after the fire and sworn to get him back, and when Peter had passed him in the grocery story hours earlier. Kate sat on the couch next to him.

“You done thinking yet?”

He took a long swallow of beer and then a deep breath. “Go for it.”

\---

_“It doesn’t matter how you play the game, it’s whether you win or lose. And even that doesn’t make all that much difference.”_ _\- Coach Finstock, Teen Wolf, 1985_


	9. Finals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Drug use, sacrilegious behavior, and a plot-convenient legal system.

Scott took a hit of the communal joint and passed it on to Isaac. Their knees knocked together painfully, and Stiles laughed at their grimaces until Scott swung his knees the other way and smashed them into Stiles’s. Stiles squeaked in pain and protest.

The below decks of a pirate ship meant for children didn’t really have enough room for three college freshmen, even if Stiles and Isaac were both ridiculously bony. Scott was going to have huge bruises all over tomorrow, but especially on his knees. He giggled at that, and Isaac gave him a look as he passed the joint across to Stiles.

Pledge class bonding was the best. Even if Boyd and Erica were being super lame and had gone off for “alone time.” The losers. If Scott even _thought_ the phrase ‘bros before hoes,’ Erica, Allison, and Lydia would all murder him in new and inventive ways. And they’d probably tell his mom, who would bring him back to life to kill him in an even more horrible way. Still, there ought to be some sort of code. Like, ‘fellow pledges before makeouts... with fellow pledges.’ It was a work in progress.

Scott leaned back against the wooden planks, and took the joint back from Stiles. College was wonderful.

\---

The three of them were wandering back towards the house an hour and a couple of joints later, when Stiles pulled them in close and whispered in Scott’s ear, “Guys, I don’t want to alarm you, but someone is following us.”

Scott sighed. “Dude, there’s no one following us. The weed’s just making you paranoid.”

“I’m serious!”

Isaac spun around and waved a hand at the empty road. “No one there. Or are we being followed by invisible people? Oooooo!” He moaned, his eyes bugging out. He and Scott burst into laughter at Stiles’s indignant expression.

“No! They’re real! They’re in the woods. Watching us.”

Scott rolled his eyes; Stiles got even more paranoid when he was high. “Who’s watching us. Aliens? The CIA? It is a full moon, maybe a werewolf?”

Isaac howled enthusiastically.

“Ha ha,” Stiles deadpanned. “Seriously though. What if it’s the cops? Or AG? We should investigate.”

“Hell no,” protested Isaac. “I’m not tromping through the woods to satisfy Bambi’s paranoia.”

“Come on, Stiles,” said Scott, taking his arm. “Let’s just go back to the house and watch a movie or something.”

Stiles kept grumbling about people following them, but did allow himself to be dragged along.

They were almost at the house when Stiles froze. “Did you hear that? I totally heard something.”

“Probably a squirrel or whatever. Didn’t some guys train a squirrel to chase people?”

“Yeah,” agreed Scott. “Isaac’s probably right, Stiles. Let’s keep going.”

They’d just reached the edge of the woods, right where the ABO parking lot started when, with blood-curdling screams, two dark figures burst from the trees and raced towards them, waving their arms. The three of them took off running with shrieks of terror.

“I told you!” Stiles was screaming. “I told you!”

“Shut up and run!” gasped Isaac, making for the house.

Stiles’s Jeep was parked nearby, and Scott made for that, thinking he could lock himself inside. But he misjudged his speed and the distance to the car, and slammed into the side of it before crumpling to the ground.

“Oh my god, that was priceless!” That was Erica’s voice. “I thought Stilinski was going to ruin the whole thing, but that was great!”

She was leaning against Boyd, who had a huge grin on his face, and laughing so hard that she couldn’t stand up straight.

“You motherfuckers,” growled Isaac, pouncing on the two of them.

“I was right! Twenty points for Paranoia!” crowed Stiles, throwing himself into the melee too.

Scott groaned.

“Oh right.” Boyd came over to help him up. “You okay man? You went down pretty hard.”

“If I say I have a concussion, will you feel bad?” Scott whined.

Boyd - awful person that he was - laughed. “Probably not. Serves you right for doing drugs on a playground. Is nothing sacred? Though I would get you some medical attention,” he allowed.

“The boat was a stroke of genius,” insisted Stiles. “Plus, now we all get to say we’ve gotten high in a boat. Can you say that, Boyd? No you cannot. Therefore, we win.”

“Well if McCall is concussed,” said Erica, “he’s not allowed to go to sleep, so let’s keep him entertained with some video games, and you guys can bond over your tragic defeat at my hands.” She cackled madly and shoved them all into the house.

\---

Saturday night was ABO’s annual “Heaven and Hell” party. Allison and Stiles ganged up on Scott and forced him to wear a costume.

“Guys, a sheet and sandals is not enough clothes. I’m freezing,” he complained, as they trekked across campus.

“I told you to take another shot,” Allison said, poking him in the side with her plastic pitchfork. “Then you wouldn’t be so cold. Anyway, I’ve got less on than you do, so can it.”

“You picked your own outfit though,” pointed out Stiles, “and it’s just a black dress you might wear any other night, some horns, and a pitchfork.” He quailed immediately at the look she gave him.

“At least my costume is recognizable. You look like a used Bible salesman.”

“I am dressed as the angel Castiel, and my outfit is damn near perfect, thank you.”

Scott held up his hands between the two of them. “Dudes. Verily I say unto thee, chill the fuck out.”

Stiles laughed. “Now you’re getting into the spirit of the thing, Jesus. Hey, you should try the whole water-to-wine thing.”

Laughing, they entered the party.

\---

“Ugh. Two emergency meetings in one semester,” griped Derek. “This blows.”

The whole frat had been woken up on Sunday morning to furious calls from Finstock declaring a “Frat-wide state of emergency,” and was now gathered in the chapter room waiting to hear what the crisis was.

“What do you mean, two? This is the first one.”

“The first one you babies have been to,” Finstock said. “The other was before Rush.”

“What was it about?” asked Stiles.

“First night back, some idiot freshman decided to take a nap on a couch and no one knew who he was. We called it the Couch Boy Incident. I came up with the name.” Finstock looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Uh...” Scott said, looking guiltily at Stiles. “We uh, may know something about that.”

“You know who he is?” asked Derek.

Stiles waved sheepishly, and Derek gaped. “That was _you_? You’re Couch Boy?”

“Couch Boy?”

“Dude, why the fuck did you pass out in a random frat house? Everyone was freaking the fuck out.”

“Hang on a second, I’m still stuck on this name. Why was I Couch Boy and Scott wasn’t even mentioned? We could have been the Couch Comrades, or the Couch Crusaders. You need to work on your naming skills. Oh dude! Can we call Scott a Couch Potato now?”

“Bilinski!”

“Aye-aye Coach Finstock!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes sir,” Stiles said with a sarcastic salute.

“Why didn’t I get mentioned?” asked Scott, feeling a little left out.

“You looked the part. People pass out on our couches all the time, it’s not a big deal. But you were in a fucking suit.”

Stiles fidgeted. “It’s a nice suit.”

“It’s a great suit,” said Scott, slinging an arm around Stiles for moral support. “Lydia said it was nice.”

“I think what Lydia actually said was that it could stop traffic,” Erica pointed out with a grin, because Erica was a horrible person.

Scott glared at her, and she winked at him. Stiles was saved from further embarrassment by Peter calling the meeting to order.

“We have a serious situation, gentlemen and lady. I need complete honesty from you, and I promise you won’t get in trouble - there’s a reason Deaton’s not here - but we have to know.” Peter sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Does this cocaine belong to anyone?”

The whole frat burst into confused and angry muttering, but no one stepped up to claim the tiny bag in his hands.

“Steve found it in a table on the downstairs dance floor. Does that jog anyone’s memory?”

Silence.

“Alright. For future reference, don’t store your drugs here. I mean it. If you do know something, but don’t want to announce it, come talk to me privately. I want to keep this between us and not involve adults if possible.”

“Holy shit!” blurted Stiles the second they were out of the room. “This is crazy! Can you believe it?”

“I wonder who left it,” mused Scott.

“Could be anyone,” Erica pointed out. “We did just have that party down there.”

“Do you think -” Scott started, but then shook his head. “Nah. Nevermind, it’s crazy.”

“What?”

“Could it be AG?”

The others laughed.

“No one even _associated_ with AG ever comes to our parties,” pointed out Boyd.

“You’re getting to be as paranoid as Stiles,” teased Isaac, jabbing him in the ribs.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

\---

"Sorry I'm late," Scott apologized as he burst into Dr. Deaton's office. "I was having lunch with Allison and-" he stopped at the grim look on Deaton's face.

"Scott. Tell me truthfully. Does anyone in ABO use cocaine?"

"What? No! Oh! Are you talking about that bag Peter found? No, it's not ours. Somebody must have left it at a party. I've never heard of anyone using."

"Good. That's good. That's what I told Dean Gerard, but I wanted to confirm it with you."

Scott frowned. "Why were you talking to Dean Gerard about it?"

"Because of the drug bust. The police found a couple grams of cocaine in the house. Gerard is calling for you to get kicked off campus, or have your charter revoked."

Scott gaped. "What?"

Just then his phone nearly vibrated out of his pocket. It was Stiles: 'SOS! Mayday! House swarming with cops! It's worse than my dad's Christmas party'

Scott typed a quick response, while Deaton was replying to an email. 'It's way worse than that. Deaton says they found more cocaine!'

'Holy shit. Good thing we don't keep weed at the house.'

Scott deleted that text immediately.

'Dude! I'm at work right now!'

'...do you remember who sold it to us?'

Scott pulled a face and put his phone away.

Deaton waved a hand absently at him. "I need to work on fixing this problem. Why don't you take care of the animals, and then focus on the 'study' part of work-study?"

"Okay. Thanks, Dr. Deaton. Let me know if I can help."

"You swear you don't know about any cocaine use?"

Scott nodded.

"Then you've helped plenty."

Scott's phone buzzed again while he was feeding the psychology mice. Stiles was calling this time.

"Dude! What does Deaton say?"

"He's trying to fix it. He believes that none of us are doing hard drugs though."

"Good. No one even acts like they do. I mean, I had my suspicions about Finstock at first, but my current theories are either too many lacrosse balls to the head, or that he's actually an alien sent to learn our customs and behavior before a full scale invasion. Did you see him on Halloween? I'm pretty sure all that hair was actually his."

Scott rolled his eyes and refilled the water dispenser. Stiles finally hung up, with a promise to find out what he could, and Scott turned to his studying. Hopefully this would all blow over in a bit; finals were coming up.

\---

The whole frat was on high alert for the rest of the week, while waiting on a final ruling to come down. Finally Peter called another meeting.

“I’ve got good news and bad news. Good news is Deaton managed to convince the administration not to kick us off campus or pull our charter.”

Everyone sighed in relief, and there were a few whoops of triumph, but they were quickly stifled.

“Bad news. We’re suspended indefinitely. That means no parties, no spring rush, no...”

Peter went on listing the terms and conditions of their suspension, and Scott’s heart sunk lower and lower. This was the absolute worst.

\---

“I heard about the suspension. That’s a shame, McCall. How much cocaine did they find again?”

Scott had very consciously chosen a seat where he wouldn’t have to look at Jackson Whittemore’s stupid face, but that didn’t stop him from talking.

Allison glared over her shoulder. “People are trying to study,” she hissed.

“I’m sure McCall’s got plenty of energy for it.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Scott muttered, his pen creaking in the death grip he had on it.

Allison placed her hand on his arm. “It’s not worth it, Scott. He’s just an asshole.”

The red seeping across his vision faded a little bit, and he smiled at her. “You’re right. Let’s get back to studying.”

\---

Scott scrapped through finals somehow, but his heart wasn’t really in it. The semester had started out so promisingly - a great roommate, a great fraternity, a great girlfriend - but now...

The airport was on Stiles’s way home and he’d offered months ago to give Scott a ride. It was going to be their awesome, bro-bonding roadtrip. Instead, they spent most of it in silence.

Stiles dropped Scott off at the terminal, and reached out for a fist bump at the same time Scott went for a high five. Scott chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Have a good break, buddy.”

“You too. Don’t let the man get you down.”

“Too late,” Scott groaned, and Stiles winced before pulling away from the curb.

The flight home was dull, and it was raining when Scott got home, the weather matching his mood. Even seeing his mom wasn’t the mood-lifter that it normally was. Scott flopped down on the bed in the room that didn’t really feel like his anymore and sighed. College was awful.

\---

_Beacon Hills University Police Department_   
_Date: December 10, 2012_   
_Report: Station received an anonymous tip about a large amount of contraband materials in a campus fraternity house (Alpha Beta Omega - 19 Forrest Street). Call came in at 9:46 AM and two (2) officers were dispatched to the scene. They were invited into the house, and when a cursory search revealed the tip to be accurate and not a prank as had been expected more officers were dispatched to the scene at 10:13 AM. The search uncovered a total of three (3) bags of cocaine that came to a total weight of five (5) grams. The Dean of Greek Life and the President of the College were notified of the incident._   
_Signed, Police Chief John Parrot_


	10. Campus Life

Isaac had been looking forward to living in the house. He’d had to get special permission to live there as a freshman, but it was completely worth it since his roommate last semester had sucked. The house wasn’t any crappier than the shitty boys’ dorm he’d been in, plus he was almost always over there anyway. But now that the frat was suspended, he had a suspicion that this semester was totally going to blow. Hard.

The first few weeks of the year dragged by. Isaac went to class, went to chapter meetings, went to work, but didn’t really do anything. Everyone in the house was sullen and moody, and the King of Sulk, Mr. Derek Hale, was like their patron saint. Isaac ended up camping out in Stiles and Scott’s room most of the time just to avoid all the manpain.

He was currently there, in theory studying with Scott, but in actuality arguing with Stiles about polar bear plunges.

“It’s beyond stupid. First of all, the water in that lake is disgusting all year round. Secondly, it’s frozen over; there’s a pyramid of bikes on it right now. Third, the shock of cold is kind of terrible for you, especially if you submerge your head, which you would if you jumped in. And finally, that dock is pretty high, how the hell would you get back up?”

“Details,” scoffed Stiles. “Think about how awesome it would be. Scott, you’d do it with me, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Scott said, without looking up from the article he was reading.

“See?” Stiles gestured.

“I’m still not gonna do it, man. Ask Boyd.”

Stiles laughed. “Boyd totally wouldn’t do it. He’s not an idiot.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “ _Thanks_. What’s the big deal anyway? The lake froze last semester and you didn’t suggest anything as idiotic as diving right in.”

Stiles sighed and scrubbed a hand over his buzzcut. “Jackson and some of the other AGs in my lab are just being really smug right now, and I want do something totally badass to show them that ABO’s still, you know, relevant.”

Isaac recognized the sentiment, but luckily he didn’t interact with the AGs much. He and Erica did have English 101 with Jackson Douche-more though. It took all of Isaac’s willpower - and sometimes Erica’s hand on his arm - to stop him from punching the asshole in the face. Especially when he started loudly going on about the “totally sweet” party AG was having that weekend, and how great it was that there were still some good frats on campus, even if a few organizations were “bad eggs.”

“Who the fuck says ‘bad eggs’? Does he think he’s Johnny fucking Depp or something?” Isaac hissed to Erica. “Can’t we beat him up? Just a little bit? We could claim it as community service hours.”

Erica laughed wickedly. “I always underestimate you, Lahey.” She ruffled his hair. “You’re just so adorable.”

He swatted at her, and she blew a kiss at him. “I could still take you in a fight, sweetheart.”

Isaac decided to go with the safer route of glaring daggers at Jackson’s stupid, sweater-clad back.

\---

“Isaac! It’s snowing!”

“No shit, Scott,” Isaac drawled, getting two zombies with one shot. He whooped.

“C’mon, c’mon. Come sledding with Stiles and me. I already stole a tray from the dining hall,” he wheedled.

Isaac rolled his eyes, just glad that he couldn't see the puppy face Scott certainly had on.

"I know you're not studying. I can hear your game. Come on, man. Meet us behind the dining hall in like twenty minutes."

"Whatever dude," Isaac said, and hung up.

Twenty-five minutes later, he was strolling towards central campus, following the sound of yelling. Scott and Stiles had indeed liberated a plastic tray from the dining hall, and were sledding down a steep hill with varying degrees of success. Stiles waved Isaac over just as Scott attempted a running start. He sailed rather impressively through the air, but then completely failed at continuing that motion down the hill. Isaac and Stiles laughed as he lay groaning in the snow.

"Run ups: not a good idea," he said, finally getting to his feet and brushing a layer of snow off.

It took them awhile to get the snow packed down just right for optimal sledding, and any deviation ended up in disaster, but it was actually pretty fun.

“We should get really drunk tonight and come sledding then,” Issac suggested, watching Scott trudge back up the hill. “Everything’s more fun when you’re drunk.”

“Truth,” said Scott, handing the tray off to Stiles.

He took off down the hill, hit a root partway down, and rolled the rest of the way. He lay in the ditch at the bottom, breathless with laughter.

“Should we help him?”

“Nah,” breezed Scott. “He’s got a thick skull, he’ll be fine. That’s why I didn’t worry about him during pledging.”

“Why did you guys rush, anyway?”

Scott laughed. “To meet girls.”

Isaac eyeballed him.

“I’m serious. I saw Allison talking to some frat guys, and thought that joining a frat would help us get girls. Well, a specific girl for me. It worked, didn’t it?” Scott shrugged. “Why’d you join up?”

It was Isaac’s turn to shrug. “A couple reasons. My brother was in a frat - not ABO, a local one - and he had a great time. He and my dad thought it would be a good idea for me.” Isaac kicked idly at a little bush poking up through the snow. “Then Derek was nice to me during Orientation, so ABO it was. I wasn’t expecting it to turn into a fucking teen comedy though.”

“I hope the plucky, underdog frat wins in this one,” said Stiles, rejoining the conversation.

“Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life, man,” Isaac grumbled. “The rich kids with Daddy’s money will make sure things work out the way they want them to.”

The three of them stared glumly at the ground.

“Now we _definitely_ need drinks.”

\---

Peter seemed to have the same idea.

“I think it’s time for a Kill It Party, lads. Brothers, significant others, and glass bottles only, keep it on the down low.”

A Kill It Party, as Isaac soon discovered, involved bringing a (glass) bottle of alcohol, and finishing it in a single evening. He wasn’t sure why Peter had insisted on the glass part until the final step of the evening.

“Alright, gentlemen and ladies. All those of you who have proven yourselves worthy and - as they say in the vernacular - ‘Killed It,’ bring your empty and your drunken self, and follow me to the graveyard.”

The trek across campus was loud and boisterous. Empty bottles had been hastily shoved into a backpack that was clinking gently on Isaac’s back. He wanted to readjust it, but Erica had insisted that their pledge class take the journey arm-in-arm, and she growled at him when he tried to move.

The fastest way to the graveyard was past the police station, and Peter made them go past in small, hushed groups so they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves.

“This looks so sketch,” Stiles grumbled. “I mean seriously, cops look for behavior like this, man. We are all gonna get arrested. I’m too pretty for jail. Aren’t I too pretty for jail, Scott?”

“You’re too pretty for jail,” Scott agreed, head-butting him gently.

Somehow they made it safely through the little gate and onto the gravel road that wound among the graves. The little copse of trees at the very center of the graveyard was almost pitch black, but the lights of the police and fire stations glimmered on one side, and a row of sorority houses lit up their backs. The empty bottles were removed from the backpack and handed around to the brothers who had finished them.

"Finstock, would you do the honors of the first kill?" Peter asked, and Finstock nodded.

"The pleasure's all mine."

None of the new members were prepared for what happened next - Finstock hefted the bottle in hand, reared his arm back, and flung the bottle off into the etheric. It hit a tree trunk and shattered with a truly satisfying sound. Isaac's grin was toothy; this was the best party ever.

One by one the other brothers who had killed bottles of liquor that evening hurled their empties into the night. Isaac somehow ended up with the last bottle left intact. He shifted it in his grip, holding it like a baseball bat, and then hurled it as hard as he could. The bottle pinwheeled through the air, disappearing into the darkness, but Isaac could hear it shatter and fall in pieces to the ground, tinkling against branches and other bits of broken glass.

\---

The power went out a few weeks before midterms, and without internet or video games, everyone went a little stir-crazy. Most frats resorted to their other favorite pastimes of booze and fire. ABO didn’t have bonfires often, and when they did they were always carefully maintained - they were the only frat on campus to have an appointed Fire Marshal. This fire was no exception, though it was a bit bigger than normal. Pretty much the whole frat was there, drinking and laughing and enjoying the sense of anarchy that came with the power outage.

Isaac was going for another beer when he saw movement on the roof. He stared up in horror, until he realized it was just Derek brooding. He rolled his eyes, but left the warmth of the bonfire to find a way to get up there too.

“How the hell did you get so far out there?” he griped, clinging to the top of the roof and scooting along on his hands and knees. When he was right above Derek, he slid carefully down on his ass, braced to fall to his death at any moment.

“Superior balance skills,” Derek said.

“Alright, _Batman_. Geez, brooding much?”

“Keeping an eye on things.”

Isaac made a face, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t remember the fire, but it had worked it’s way into the collective frat memory, and he knew better than to bring it up. Especially at this altitude.

“I can hear you trying not to think about the fire,” Derek grumbled. “Just get it over with and ask.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a death wish, dude. Tell me if you want, but if you don’t feel like talking, we can shut the hell up.”

Derek turned to look at him, but Isaac kept his gaze focused on the fire below.

Derek sighed. “What do you want to know?”

He looked like he was braced for the worst, so Isaac went for a different tactic. “Why do the AGs hate us so much?”

Derek huffed a laugh. “God, who even knows the real reason anymore? Somebody’s girlfriend probably slept with someone else, or there was pledge stealing, or any stupid fucking thing. When I rushed it was just a dumb thing; we argued back and forth, had the occasional prank war, refused to hold parties together. As our punishment for ‘failing’ the goat pledge mission, we had to steal, deface, and return as many of their composite pictures as we could. We got all of the ones they had on display, but they caught us when we were trying to get to the ones in storage and dumped us in the middle of the woods. Harmless fun.”

“Harmless,” Isaac snorted.

“Nothing like it is now, anyway. Last year was when things got really fucked up. We threw a foam party-”

“A foam party?”

“It’s uh, it’s a party, but with foam.”

“No shit.”

Derek shoved him and Isaac very nearly had a heart attack.

“Don’t be an asshole. You seal off a room, get a machine that makes a shit-ton of foam, and then dance in said foam. It’s literally a hot mess. I’m pretty sure people were actually having sex in the foam. Plus you have to put sand on the floor so no one slips and dies, and it gets everywhere. I was cleaning sand off for weeks.”

“Mental images I do not need, dude.”

“I can still shove you off this roof,” Derek threatened. “Anyway, we’d gotten all our permits and what-the-fuck-ever, but I guess the administration didn’t realize exactly how much a of shit-show it would be - I don’t think anyone realized how much of a shit-show it would be.”

Derek paused, and scowled into the darkness for a moment. “Kate Argent was at that party. Flirting with pretty much everyone. We danced for a while. I remember thinking she was really hot, even covered in foam. We hooked up a couple of times after that. I didn’t like _love_ her or anything stupid like that, but she was a senior, I was a sophomore; it was a big deal to me. And then I was coming home from class, and the house was on fire, and she just stopped talking to me. Well Chris was Vice President of AG, and she was his sister, and so _of course_ we knew they were behind it. But we could never prove anything. And then fucking Gerard said it would be better if we just disbanded after the foam incident and the insurance issues and all. Well fuck that. We made it through the fire, we’ll make it through this shit.” Derek clapped a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “You got me?”

“Yeah. Yeah I got you.”

Derek returned to his silent watch; the airing of feelings was clearly over. Isaac thought about leaving, but decided that would be a dick move, even if he was just about scared shitless up here. It was kind of awesome though, being this high up. Terrifying as fuck, sure, but awesome.

Other brothers were gathered around the fire, talking and drinking, and that was nice to watch. Even though things royally sucked right now, they were still brothers, right? They would get through this, even if they had to burn shit down to do it. Well, maybe not the _best_ sentiment, but whatever. Brotherhood.

\---

_New Student Survival Guide:_

_\- If you puke on the toilet seat and an upperclassman finds out, you will be balled from Fraternities, Sororities, the Honor Society, the Stuent Government, and every other organization you can imagine.  
_

_\- Coming to class five minutes late is cool.  
_

_\- Girls dig STD collections.  
_

_\- Your professors are not giving you a bad grade because you deserve it, that's just how they flirt.  
_

_\- Only drink on days that end in "y."  
_

_\- It is perfectly polite and acceptable to hook up in fraternity/sorority houses and academic buildings. But not the chapel.  
_

_\- Dorm matrons are required to tuck you in if you ask them to.  
_

_\- You are not a revolutionary, anarchistic, iconoclastic, radical, tortured, misunderstood, isolated, burdened, ideologically priviledged, intellectually superior, unique individual just because you read a bit of Nietzsche and feel awkward around strangers.  
_

_\- Sinks are just taller urinals.  
_

_\- No one really studies in the computer lab so feel free to be as loud and distracting as you please.  
_

_\- Everything on this campus is within walking distance.  
_

_\- Dubstep isn't that cool.  
_

_\- If you bring it back, it's borrowing not stealing.  
_

_\- Wild animal attacks are common.  
_

_\- The waters of the lake have mystical healing properties.  
_

_\- Pizza and fries is an acceptably healthy meal.  
_

_\- The upperclassmen all secretly love you and want to know everything about you. Don't be shy.  
_

_\- The campus is littered with buried treasure.  
_

_(Adapted from "The Common Source" of the University of the South)  
_


	11. Midterm

Danny had been surprised by how quickly he and Jackson became friends. He’d met Jackson back in April, when they’d both attended a dinner for accepted students. He’d written him off as a rich asshole at first, which was accurate, but not the whole picture.

“God this is boring,” the guy said without any introduction. “I can’t believe my mom thought I should come to this. I already know I’m going.”

“Yeah, I’ve pretty much decided too,” Danny said, deciding politeness was the best strategy. “But you know, at least the food’s good.”

“Better with drinks. Do you want some vodka?”

“Uh, sure?”

He pulled a monogrammed flask out of his jacket pocket and splashed some into Danny’s punch.

“Some hot chicks, right? I hope they all decide to enroll. Especially that blonde. What do you think?”

And here it was, the moment of truth. “Girls aren’t really my type.”

“Leggy blondes are everyone’s type. Look at me.”

So yeah, Jackson was a dick sometimes, but not even Danny’s best friend had been that cool when he’d come out in high school. And he didn’t even know the guy’s name yet.

They messaged back and forth all summer and then signed up to room together. Jackson’s dad must have pulled some strings because they ended up in an awesome dorm.

Danny had been planning to rush anyway. His host when he’d done an overnight visit had been in a frat and Danny liked the community. Jackson was definitely rushing. His mantra was ‘Alpha Gamma or nothing,’ and since he was a legacy, that probably wasn’t going to be a problem. Danny kept a more open mind during Rush, but AG was fun and the guys were cool, and he’d been excited about shaking Chris Argent’s hand on Shake Day.

The Great Frat War had been adorable; it was like two pre-schoolers trying to flirt by throwing sand at each other. Danny’d had fun with it, but he was glad it was over. Except for the fact that victory had turned the brothers of AG (read: Jackson) into huge douchebags. Chris didn’t seem all that excited either, but Danny figured he was mostly just relieved that the pranks wouldn’t escalate any further. It had been reaching a ridiculous level; they still hadn’t replaced all their kitchen stuff.

\---

“I want you to know I’m pissed at you, but you’re an awesome Chem partner, so I’m not going to say anything about it.”

“Uh-” Danny was never sure how to respond to Stiles. He was really smart, and a great lab partner, but his constant motion (not always in the intended direction) made Danny want to strap him to a chair, or possibly put him in a straightjacket.

“Well, I’m not really pissed at _you_ ,” Stiles continued, filling the silence. “More at your organization which I assume was somehow involved in our suspension.”

“Paranoid much?”

Stiles waved a hand, narrowly avoiding knocking over a beaker. Danny moved it safely out of range.

“I think my concerns are valid. Jackson’s being too much of a dick to not be involved somehow.”

“Have you actually met Jackson?” Danny asked. “His neutral state is dick.”

Stiles snorted. “Oh god, horrible mental image, dude. Thanks so much for that.”

Danny smirked. “Any time.”

\---

The annual “Safer Sex Party” was a big deal on campus, and Danny felt honored that he was getting to work on it. Every year, the Women's Center and the Health Center hosted what was mainly a huge, semi-nude, dance party, but also an educational event with demonstrations on safe sex, consent, BDSM, and more. Since the Gay Straight Alliance was helping this year too, Danny had been placed in charge of procuring a literal fuck-ton of condoms for distribution. The lady at the pharmacy had looked at him extremely suspiciously.

He’d lured Jackson to the party with the promise of scantily-clad girls and free condoms. It wasn’t the noblest of methods, but it was at least effective. Jackson had bitched about the whole nipple thing though.

“Why the fuck do I have to cover my nipples? I’m a guy!”

“It’s just the rules. If girls have to cover their nipples, then guys do too. It’s not a big deal; just use some band-aids like I am.”

Jackson kept grumbling, but slapped some plain band-aids on his chest - he’d drawn the line at the rainbow ones Danny was wearing. After a few more shots to keep the cold at bay, they headed out in nothing but boxer briefs and jackets.

Lydia and Allison - in adorable bra and panty sets - were already at the Women’s Center when they got there, and Lydia immediately dragged Jackson off towards the table covered in different kinds of restraints.

“Poor bastard,” Danny said, and Allison laughed.

“I don’t know about that. I mean, I know Lydia’s not either of our types, but you have to admit that she’s hot as hell.”

“Point. Dance?”

“Love to.”

\---

“Where’s Scott?” Danny asked about fifteen minutes later when the music paused so a couple could demonstrate some safe BDSM practices.

“Oh,” Allison frowned. “He’s kind of pissy because of the whole ABO/AG thing. So we’re uh, taking a break until it blows over.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Danny sighed. “This whole thing is so idiotic.”

“Think you could convince your brothers of that?”

“I doubt it.”

Lydia reappeared, insisting that Allison had to come look at this guy (“Just a sock, Allison. That is all he has on, and no one is complaining.”), and the two of them vanished into the crowd. Danny stayed there, idly watching the girl onstage tie up her partner.

“I didn’t figure you’d be into this sort of stuff,” said a voice by his side.

“I’m not. I don’t think,” Danny replied, tilting his head to look at the intricate knot restraints she was using. “Wait,” he looked over at Stiles, “You mean you’ve considered what I might be into?”

Stiles’s face was adorable when he was flustered.

“Just, you know, as an academic exercise in people watching.”

Danny smirked.

“Shut up. I’m drunk or I would never be saying this out loud.”

“Stiles, you forget that I know you. You would totally say this shit out loud stone-cold sober.”

Stiles took a long swig of his drink as if to prove his drunkenness. Danny’s eyes trailed down the line of his throat, across his chest (which was - for once - not covered by at least two layers of clothing), and down to the leaf skirt he had on.

“What are you wearing?” Danny blurted.

“Oh. I’m supposed to be Adam, you know, fig leaves? I just stapled some leaves to a pair of boxers. Erica’s around here somewhere dressed as Eve - little leaf underpants and hair extensions. Do you like it?”

“It’s more creative than me.”

“No, no. I like your look too.” He looked Danny up and down, and Danny seriously regretted going for the tight boxer briefs over the less attractive, but much less revealing, boxers. He even had a rainbow pair that would have matched his makeshift pasties.

Jackson reappeared, and Danny wasn’t sure if he was happy to see him or not.

“Can’t have your own parties so now you’re crashing other people’s, huh?” Jackson sneered.

Stiles straightened up, and Danny was surprised to realize he was taller than Jackson. Before he got too distracted by that thought though, he stepped between the two of them. There was no way his friends were going to cause a disturbance at this party; he’d worked too damn hard on it.

“That’s enough. The music’s starting again. Let’s go find our lovely dance partners and have a good time.” He steered Jackson away towards where he’d last seen Lydia - she could deal with him.

“But-” Jackson started.

“No,” Danny insisted, waving a reluctant goodbye to Stiles.

\---

Midterms were approaching faster than Danny was entirely comfortable with, so when Stiles suggested that they should get together to study, Danny completely agreed. It wasn’t a perfect situation however. Stiles could keep quiet when he was focused on studying, but he apparently couldn’t keep still. His constant twitching and fidgeting were much more obvious when they were both sitting on Danny’s bed, and the movement was slowly driving Danny insane.

They finished one set of review problems, and decided to take a break. Stiles stretched his arms up over his head, and the hem of his t-shirt rode up enough that Danny could see a hint of dark hair. He’d noticed it at the party the other night, and now was definitely not the time to be thinking about that.

“So, I wasn’t expecting to see you at the Safer Sex Party,” Stiles said, and Danny jerked.

“Oh. Yeah. I’m in the Gay Straight Alliance and since they were helping sponsor it, I had to be there.”

“Yeah? I’m thinking about joining that. They accept bisexuals, right? It’s not just gay, straight, or get the hell out?”

Danny laughed. “Yeah. Anyone can join.”

“Good. I decided I needed to branch out since I was so focused on frat stuff last semester, and I figured starting with people who might want to make out with me was a good plan.”

“So you’re joining the Gay Straight Alliance to get laid?” Danny smirked, and Stiles blushed.

“You make it sound so dirty. It’s mostly for solidarity and all that. At least sixty percent.”

Danny laughed again, and Stiles smiled. It was small, but pleased, and the tiniest bit smug. Stiles had a gorgeous mouth.

“Hold on a sec,” Danny said, scrambling off the bed and digging through the piles on his desk. He found one of the consent stickers that had been passed out at the Safer Sex Party and a Sharpie, and filled it out hastily.

“I like your      mouth      and I want to      kiss        it. Are you as into that as I am?”

He climbed back onto the bed and handed it over. Stiles took it with a confused frown, and then burst out laughing. Just as Danny was starting to panic, Stiles leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

“You’re adorable,” he said, with another soft kiss. “You’re not just doing this ‘cause I said I wanted to get laid are you?”

“Basically,” Danny sighed, crowding Stiles back against his pillow.

Stiles laughed into the kiss. “So ridiculous. ‘Oh, come over to my room and we can “study.”’ Jesus, this is such a cliche.”

“Does it really bother you so much?” Danny asked, sliding his hand under Stiles’s t-shirt.

“Not a fucking bit.”

“Wise answer,” Danny grinned, getting back to the kissing.

\---

Jackson ruined the afterglow because of course he did. Not that he saw much. Despite the heap of clothes on the floor, Stiles still had like three layers on, and they had actually gone back to studying, propped against each other on Danny’s bed. Jackson turned the same shade of red as Stiles’s stupid high school track jacket, and Danny wondered for a second if he might actually explode. Apparently you got all A’s if your roommate died.

Stiles muttered an apology and booked it, but not before Danny got one last kiss. Danny had to deal with Jackson and Lydia’s lip-locking all the time; payback was a bitch.

“The enemy!” Jackson managed to hiss a few minutes after Stiles’s departure. “You’re sleeping with the enemy!”

“Mutual hand jobs is hardly ‘sleeping with,’” Danny smirked, without looking up from his book.

“TMI, dude!”

\---

Danny honestly hadn’t meant to read Dean Gerard’s email. He hadn’t hacked his account or anything. The Dean had brought his laptop into Computer Services, and when Danny booted it up to clear out a virus, his email had opened automatically. Even then, he hadn’t meant to sit there and actually read the stuff, but as he was going to close out of it, the phrase “eliminate the Greek system” jumped out at him. And well, he liked to think he was a good, honest person, but there was no way he wasn’t going to click on that email.

It was a draft actually. A letter to the school’s trustees and Board of Regents. In it, Gerard outlined how recent evidence had revealed that the drugs found in one fraternity had been planted there at the instigation of another, and that such competition between frats was detrimental to the education and moral character of all the young men in them, not to mention the frequent and numerous violations of college policy involving common sources, public gatherings, noise, and use of controlled substances.

Danny jaw dropped as he kept reading. After he’d read it through twice and pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, he printed a copy, emailed a screenshot to himself, and took a picture with his phone. He barely believed this, and he was going to need evidence if he was going to make anyone else believe it. Then he made sure his boss was safely in her office before calling in reinforcements.

“Stiles, I have something you need to see.”

\---

_Here’s to it and from it and to it again!_   
_And if you ever get to it and don’t do it,_   
_May you never get to it to do it again!_ _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Safer Sex Party is a real thing at Oberlin College. I was lucky/unlucky enough to be visiting the night of the party and it obviously left an impression. It's actually a pretty cool idea, I think. All of the information that I didn't already know about it I got from this article (oberlin.edu/stupub/ocreview/2005/11/4/news/article2.html), and it has more stuff about it if you're interested.
> 
> Danny/Stiles isn't going to be a major pairing in the rest of this story I'm pretty sure, so if it's not your thing, never fear. I wasn't expecting it either, they just really wanted to make out.


	12. Thesis

“Clearly he’s lying,” Derek insisted. “You can’t trust those assholes.”

“Danny’s a good guy. He wouldn’t do something like that,” Stiles shot back, Scott nodding along in agreement.

Peter looked back and forth between them, smiling in amusement. After a while though, he had to stop them. As entertaining as Stiles and Derek’s arguments were, they really did have to get this shit sorted. “Enough. Stiles, what do the AGs think about this email? Do they think it’s true that Gerard is trying to get rid of all the frats?”

“Uhhh,” Stiles scratched his head. “Not exactly? But Danny’s pretty sure he’s got them convinced it’s not an elaborate hoax. I think at this point they just don’t think Gerard will actually go through with it, or that if he does he won’t get any support.”

“That doesn’t really encourage me to work with them, Stiles.”

“Well, he’s working on it. It doesn’t help that he’s ‘sleeping with the enemy.’”

Peter laughed out loud at Scott and Derek’s matching expressions of shock.

“You didn’t say, dude. Congrats!” Scott cheered at the same time as Derek blurted, “You’re sleeping with an _AG_?!?”

Stiles waved them both off. “Bigger issues at hand here. Like the fate of the frat.”

Even he rolled his eyes at that.

“Tell me if Argent changes his tune,” Peter said. “There’s nothing we can do until then.”

\---

The timing of this latest frat drama was very inconvenient. Peter’s thesis was due soon, and he didn’t really have time to be dealing with the complications of an administrative conspiracy against fraternities. So he passed off most of the presidential power to Finstock, and focused on writing.

He was quite proud of his thesis; it was on intergenerational power struggles in Greek mythology, and was quite interesting. He had to spend a lot of time in the library working on it. The library which was not nearly big enough to be an effective hiding spot from Bobby Finstock, who was a persistent bastard when he wanted to be.

“You can’t hide in here forever, Hale,” he hissed, trapping Peter in the carrell.

“I’m not _hiding_. I’m working. Though I recognize that the concept might be unfamiliar to you.”

“Dude. We’ve lived together,” Finstock said, ignoring the jab. “I know your method of working is writing three sentences and then playing computer chess for like an hour. Don’t even start with me, bro.”

“Fine. What do you want?” Peter glanced at his watch. “You have thirty seconds.”

“Get your head out of your asshole and go talk to Chris Argent. We’ve gotta get a lockdown on this frat shit and instead you’re in here bitching and moaning about how he broke your heart or some bullshit.”

Peter decided not to dignify the majority of that with a response. “I’m not going to talk to him.”

“We need the support of the other frats on this. Some of ‘em will come along based on our word alone, but the rest will look to AG. So quit acting like you’re in a Taylor Swift song and just talk to the bastard.”

“How do you even know what Taylor Swift’s songs are about?”

Finstock shrugged. “Sophomore year this girl was all into her songs. Chick was hot though.” He paused. “The girl and T. Swift.”

“Stop talking please.”

“Talk. To. Argent.”

Finstock loomed over him, though the effect was rather ruined by his smiley face t-shirt.

“Fine, fine,” Peter waved. “But only to get you to go away.”

Finstock grinned proudly, and pulled Peter into an awkward bro-hug. Then he wandered off, whistling loudly until a librarian shushed him.

\---

Peter felt like he was in some sort of ridiculous spy movie going to a meet-up in some seedy back room. Admittedly, the back room of the campus coffee house was only seedy in that the furniture was second- or third-hand and there were no windows; other than that, it was quite pleasant.

They were early, so he got to claim one of the armchairs.

“Rules: I do most of the talking, and I don’t want you making doe eyes at Mahealani, Bambi. Stay focused.”

Stiles spluttered a laugh. “Oh my God. I think you’re taking this too seriously.”

“You were the one talking about the fate of the frat.”

Stiles waved dismissively, which then turned into an actual wave. “They’re here.”

Peter very pointedly read the newspaper until Chris pulled the curtain across the door, and he and Danny took their seats. Stiles leaned against Danny on the couch, and they exchanged a flirty look. Peter rolled his eyes, and noticed with discomfort that Chris did too.

“You have until I finish this coffee, Hale,” said Chris, taking a pointed sip of his drink.

“I’ll get straight to the point then. Dean Gerard’s email.”

Chris sighed. “Look. I can buy that it’s a thing he might have planned, but he wouldn’t go through with it. He wouldn’t throw me-”

He stopped abruptly.

“Wait, what was that?” Peter asked, eyes narrowing. “Were you about to say ‘throw me under a bus’? What does that mean, Chris? Did you- did you know about the drugs? _Did you plant them_?”

“No!” Chris insisted, getting to his feet, and Peter realized that he had stood up too.

Stiles tugged at his sleeve and said with a nervous laugh, “Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here. This is the War Room.”

“You _bastard_ ,” Peter spat, ignoring Stiles. Then he stormed out.

\---

Peter contemplated all manner of delicious tortures for Argent, but nothing ever seemed quite right. Poison was either too quick or too easily stopped. He’d have to build a rack, and that would take time. Fire seemed rather appropriate, but it was too hard to control. He wanted this to be _personal_. Finstock offered to beat him up, but Peter remembered the last time that had been tried. While it had been pretty funny to watch Finstock curled up in a ball on the pavement, the absolute lack reaction from Argent defeated the purpose of the whole torture exercise.

He finished his thesis in a rage-fueled blaze of academic fury, and looked forward to losing himself in booze for a few hours.

\---

It wasn’t a frat party. It was a post-thesis celebration, hosted by Finstock who just happened to live in the house, that the entire frat had been invited to. Definitely not a frat party though, should the cops ask.

Not that Peter would be talking to the cops. He had a 40 of beer duct taped to each hand, and every time he stopped drinking for more than a minute, Finstock or one of his minions appeared with a shot.

After a few hours of this, Peter made Greenberg drag an armchair onto the lawn for him, where he sat drunkenly holding court, gesturing with the now empty bottle that was still taped to one hand.

“We have a problem,” Derek growled.

“No,” Peter said, not opening his eyes. “No problems right now. I’m too drunk.”

“It’s serious.”

Peter grudgingly cracked one eye open, and then sat bolt upright. “That is serious.”

Isaac and Boyd had Jackson Whittemore by the arms and the AG was struggling to get loose.

“We found him creeping around,” said Isaac. “There was someone taking pictures too, but we couldn’t catch them.”

“It’s the AGs,” Derek snarled. “They’re trying to get us in trouble.”

“No,” Peter said. “They might be his agents, but Gerard is behind this whole thing. I know it. Chris is more likely to go for a straightforward attack. This shit is sneaky.”

Derek glowered, but didn’t say anything.

Peter leaned back in his armchair. “Talk, Whittemore. And keep it short. I was in the middle of a fabulous bender.”

Jackson scowled silently until Boyd elbowed him in the side. “Gathering evidence,” he spat. “It we can get you idiots kicked off campus, then Dean Gerard won’t have to take action against the rest of us.”

Peter laughed. “And you fucking believed him didn’t you? I knew you were an asshole, Whittemore, but I didn’t think you were a stupid one.”

“I could have corrected that misperception for you, sir,” Isaac smirked.

“I’m too drunk to deal with this right now. Tell Stiles that Mahealani’s got a single tonight. Take Mr. Whittemore to the brig.”

“Uh,” said Isaac, and Peter rolled his eyes.

“He can share a room with Finstock tonight. I’m not sure who it’ll punish more.”

\---

Jackson wouldn’t listen to any of the ABOs, especially after having to sleep on Finstock’s floor for the night. Scott finally called Allison, who called Lydia. After they got her to calm down about the fact that they’d basically kidnapped her boyfriend, things went reasonably smoothly.

Until Stiles burst in. “Danny and I just got this email.”

He read it out. “Due to the deplorable behavior exhibited by a large number of our fraternities this year, including the possession of illegal drugs, it is the decision of this office and the entire administration that all fraternity formals this spring must be held on campus, and organizations must obtain the approval of the Dean of Students office. Signed Dean Gerard.”

They stood there in stunned silence.

“No beach formal?” asked Finstock unhappily.

“Oh,” said Lydia. “Oh no. It is _on_.”

\---

**** _Eris, that goddess of strife “whose wrath is relentless,” must have been busy during the earliest periods in Classical Greek mythology. Brother fought brother, gods waged war with monsters, and fathers battled sons. This strife between generations formed the structure of the Classical heavens. The Olympian gods only gained power through Zeus's defeat of his father Cronus, who gained power by castrating and overthrowing his father Uranus. The tension between fathers and sons continues to be a theme across Greek mythology. Zeus is very careful to avoid Thetis after it is predicted that her son will surpass his father. However, it is this tension, conflict, and ultimate defeat of the father which allows for improvement. The old must be overthrown if the progress of history is to continue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reference to this (https://vine.co/v/bjKneUPxtdO) fabulous video. Also, the intro to Peter's thesis at the end is pure bullshit.


	13. Spring Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a frat AU. There's underage drinking.

Lydia Martin had ambitions. Being president of her sorority (Theta Zeta, like her mother and both her grandmothers) was least among them, but it was still there. But that wasn't going to be possible if the university got rid of the Greek system. So obviously, that was not allowed to happen.

The first step was this formal debacle. Lydia and Allison had been working on their formal coolers all semester: sanding and priming and researching and sketching. They were damn well going to use them.

“Spring break,” Lydia said, dropping her bag on the bed.

Allison looked up from her reading. “Huh?”

“We’ll do a big, proper spring break. My aunt’s got a beach house she never uses. We’ll invite a few people, have a party, unite the frats.”

“Do you think that’ll work?”

“Of course it will. And if it doesn’t, we’ll just get everyone drunk. That would solve several problems.”

They had a week to plan and finish up their coolers. The switch of venue from a formal to a spring break trip was causing some difficulty, but they were overcoming.

“Where’s the yellow?” Allison asked.

“In my cooler,” Lydia responded, pulling up the University Lacrosse logo to make sure she got it right.

“Thanks!”

Allison had a smudge of blue paint on her cheek that Lydia found simultaneously adorable and irritating.

Her phone buzzed, and Allison carefully set down her paintbrush before answering. “Stiles?”

Lydia could hear him panicking over the phone. Allison laughed, and Lydia listened more carefully. Whatever was going on, it was clearly good.

“Danny asked him to come with us on break,” Allison mouthed, and Lydia smirked.

“What did he say exactly?” Allison asked, when Stilinski took a break for air. “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“No! Don’t - hey Lydia.”

“Stiles,” she responded curtly.

Stiles sighed. “He said, ‘You’re coming on break with us, right?’ And when I asked what he was talking about, he took my phone and put the information on my calendar. I told him I’d think about it, but I don’t know what to say.”

“You’re coming,” Lydia announced. She kept talking over his stammered protests. “You and Danny help bridge the AG/ABO divide. That’s why I told him to invite you; I need both of you there.”

“She’s right,” Allison chirped unnecessarily. Lydia was always right.

“Okay. But, like, is it a date-type thing? Or just friends? Or what?”

“Are you two dating?” Allison asked, and Lydia tuned them out. Allison would handle the situation better. Anyone involved with Lydia knew damn well whether or not they were dating.

\---

Stiles Stilinski had a note saved in his phone that read, “Lydia Martin will one day rule the world. Before that day arrives, convince her to marry you and keep you around as a trophy husband.” Following that was a list of reasons why he would make a good trophy husband. It was a thorough list, and Lydia would have considered it, except her plans for world domination didn’t have time for marriage. Unless she canceled a nail appointment...

The list was why she had enlisted him for planning. The boy could craft a decent plan. Unfortunately, he was also out of his goddamn mind.

“On the road again!” he warbled as they loaded up the cars for the drive. “Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway!”

Jackson was glaring daggers at him.

“Jackson,” Lydia demanded. “Come and lift this cooler.”

“We’re the best of friends!” Stiles continued.

Jackson grit his teeth, but loaded the cooler and Lydia’s suitcase, and then they were off.

\---

Lydia was a fan of the beach in theory. In practice, it was always a disappointment; sand got everywhere, she had to be very careful not to burn, and salt water did strange things to her hair. Plus it was a public beach, which meant she wasn’t allowed to drink. It was a rule she was ignoring, of course, but it was the principle of the thing.

She pulled a vodka orange out of the magnificent cooler, and peeled it open, careful of her nails. Lydia sometimes felt like she was getting a major in Creative Drinking instead of Classics, Math, and Women’s Studies. There was a watermelon full of rum waiting at the house, and an assortment of alcoholic ice pops in the cooler along with beers disguised as sodas. Erica looked up from her book with a pitiful pout. Lydia rolled her eyes, but handed her another beer.

“This was seriously the best idea,” Erica said, popping open the can and taking a long swig. “Thanks, Lydia.”

“Yes, well. Someone had to get these fraternity idiots to work together. No offense.”

“None taken.” Erica rolled over and smiled brightly. “I think your evil plan is working.”

Of course it was, Lydia thought. Allison, Scott, and Stiles were splashing in the waves together, no surprises there. Chloe was cheering on Steve and Boyd who were playing keep away frisbee against Danny and Jackson. “I think so too,” Lydia said magnanimously, popping another piece of orange into her mouth.

\---

Danny and Erica were yelling at each other across the kitchen. Maybe her plan wasn’t working. Lydia stepped through from the dining room warily.

“It’s unacceptable, Mahealani!” Erica shouted.

“Oh really, Reyes? Explain to me how _your_ way is acceptable then.”

“What do you mean ‘explain’? It’s the most basic thing in the world. Don’t go trying to mess up the flavors.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yes, because Everclear and Hawaiian punch sounds so appetizing.”

“Really?” Lydia laughed. “That’s what you’re arguing about? A Hunch Punch recipe?”

“Yes,” Erica grit out.

“Don’t fret babies,” She patted Danny on the cheek. “We’re using my recipe.”

\---

“Lydia,” Stiles begged. “I know I ask you this like every time I see you, but for real this time, will you marry me? At the very least, adopt me and give me this punch recipe.”

“The punch recipe is for sisters only,” Lydia said, taking another swig from her solo cup.

Allison and Chloe high-fived.

“Stilinski. Stop hitting on my girlfriend and come help us set up this table.”

Stiles saluted sarcastically and peeled himself off the couch. Jackson and Danny had dragged a patio table over to the sliding doors and were setting up red cups. “Aww dude. I suck at beer pong. Can’t we just play flip cup instead of Harvard?”

Jackson laughed. “Nope. Guess we’ll wipe the floor with you then.”

“Stiles might be on your team,” Lydia smirked. “We’ll do Boys vs. Girls. Danny and Stiles can rock-paper-scissors to see who goes where.”

Danny won. Stiles sighed and walked towards the girls’ side. Danny laughed. “No way. I won, I get to pick my side. Lydia always wins.”

Lydia preened.

“Hey!” Jackson protested. “Bros before - amazing girlfriends,” he finished after a sharp look from Lydia and Erica.

The teams lined up on either side of the table. Jackson and Lydia were the first pair to start, and Lydia took the first shot. It landed - of course - and Jackson cursed as he reached for the cup. Lydia ignored him in favor of downing her own drink and setting it up to flip. The night was young and her motor skills were still reasonably good, so it only took two tries to flip the cup over. Allison was next, and she downed her drink and flipped her cup elegantly. Chloe took a few more tries and all the girls cheered her on. The boys were still stuck on Scott who kept knocking his cup off the table. Erica managed her flip pretty quickly, and Danny knocked his cup upright on the first try. Their team erupted into cheers.

Scott and Allison were up next. Since they’d won the last round, Allison got to shoot first, and surprisingly missed. Lydia had expected better from her roomie. She redeemed herself by knocking back two drinks and flipping her cup before Scott was able to get his set up right. The girls won that round easily too. The boys won the next round. Chloe was a lovely girl, but good at drinking games she was not. Erica got hung up on the fourth round and the boys took that one too.

Going into the fifth round the two teams were tied. Stiles and Danny faced each other across the table.

“What say we make this more interesting?” Stiles suggested. “If your team wins, we set aside our frat differences and work together against Gerard.”  
“And if your team wins?” Danny asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Life continues as usual.”

“Sounds good,” Danny said. “Jackson?”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. “If we win, we start up the prank war again.”

“Deal,” said Stiles. “I have some good ideas for that.”

Everyone else nodded in agreement. Danny took the first shot. It missed. Stiles dunked the ball in the water cup and lined up his shot. It missed too. Lydia was watching the game carefully.  This part of the plan was very delicate. Danny made the next shot. Stiles grinned at him before removing the plastic ball and swallowing the punch. Danny had already flipped his cup, and Lydia quickly got hers done too. Stiles was still flicking at his cup. Lydia had to admit it was a good performance. Chloe downed her drink and Stiles finally managed to get his cup to stay upright. With a roar of anger Jackson started desperately trying to flip his cup. He and Chloe got theirs done at about the same time, but there was no way Scott, Steve, and Boyd would get their cups done before Erica. Erica’s cup landed neatly upright on the table, and the girls cheered.

“Good game,” said Stiles, coming over to kiss one of Danny’s dimples.

“I see what you did there,” Danny said.

“Don’t look at me,” Stiles said, pointing over at Lydia.

She acknowledged him graciously, then shooed him away so she and Danny could talk to Jackson. Between the two of them, they managed to convince him that cooperation really was the best plan.

“If they get rid of frats, we won’t be able to prank _anyone_ ,” Danny pointed out.

“I won’t sleep with you unless you work with ABO,” Lydia offered.

Jackson changed his tune pretty quickly after that.

He and Scott shook hands in a beautiful display of interfraternity harmony.

“Friendship shots?” asked Scott.

“Friendship shots!” agreed Stiles.

“What the hell are ‘friendship shots’?”

“You take a shot to signify a new friendship, or whatever,” Scott said, dragging Jackson into the kitchen. “C’mon. I think there’s some more tequila.”

There was, but there weren’t any limes. Lydia found a small jar of lime-flavored candies, and passed them out along with shots of tequila and lines of salt.

“On three,” said Lydia, once everyone had their supplies. “One.”

“Two,” said Scott.

“Three,” said Jackson.

In unison, they licked the salt off their hands, downed the alcohol, and popped the candies in their mouths.

“Less effective than real limes,” said Allison, after a moment of silent sucking.

“Taste better though,” Erica said, sticking out her now green tongue at Steve, who was pulling a face at the slight sourness. He laughed.

Jackson smirked at Stiles when he tried to bite his candy and bit his tongue, but it was less of a hateful smirk and more of an affectionate one. Lydia took his hand and kissed his cheek.

“Come on,” she said. “There’s more punch. Enough bonding; let’s get drunk.”

\---

_(written on periwinkle blue Theta Zeta stationary)_

_\- 1 small bottle Everclear_

_\- about half a liter of vodka_

_\- about 1/5 of tequila_

_\- a 3-liter of sprite_

_\- a frozen strawberry daiquiri concentrate thing_

_\- some Rosie’s sweetened lime juice_

_\- (optional) half a thing of Jose Cuervo’s margarita mix_

_\- (optional) fresh fruit (best if soaked in alcohol for a while)_

_Much love! Your Big_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recipe is the best Hunch Punch I've ever had. I got it from one of my sorority sisters and she's 98% sure this is the proportions she used. Feel free to mess with them to get something that you like.  
> The drinking game they play is a combination of beer pong and flip cup. I was told it's called Harvard; other places may have different names.  
> Frat coolers are amazing. They're a lot of work, but super fun to make.


	14. Greek Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: there are a lot of names and OCs in this chapter, don’t worry about them, they won’t be recurring characters. However, both my dad and my advisor are referred to, if you correctly identify them you win a prize!

Alan hadn’t been in a fraternity as an undergrad. His college had had a student run EMT team though, which had been similar. He’d lived in their house for two years and had gotten royally fucked up every weekend - except when he was on duty. It had been hard work a lot of the time, but there were perks; if he got a code while in class he had permission to leave everything and run for the police station, and he always had sober friends around to be the DD and/or medic. So, when one of his advisees his second year of teaching had mentioned that his fraternity needed a faculty advisor, he’d enthusiastically agreed.

Before this year, he hadn’t needed to do much - the ABOs basically ran themselves, with the exception of the occasional strong warning from the Interfraternity Council or the Dean - but the past two years had been rough.

Alan had a _selective_ moral code. He’d accepted this about himself. So while he had no problems growing a bit of weed in the woods behind his duplex or the usual low-level misdemeanors that were a part of college life, he did have a line. Planting evidence and manipulation of students was definitely on the wrong side of that line. Which made this whole situation much harder to bear. He couldn’t figure out why someone whose job was supposed to be young people could possibly treat them so badly.

Although, he thought, he had set Scott to cleaning out all the psychology rat cages over an hour ago.

“Scott, could I have a word?” Alan asked, poking his head into the lab where Scott was working.

The boy looked up guiltily from the two rats he was playing with. “Uh...”

“Not about this. Although I suspect you might be skewing their results.”

“I play with all of them equally,” Scott insisted, then paused. “Uh- I mean... I’ll be right there.”

\---

“Do you think you can do it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

“Are you willing to?” Alan pressed.

Scott considered for a long moment. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

\---

It was a busy few weeks. He had a huge stack of midterms to grade, a few students needed advising on projects and papers, and his friend in the Art History department had beaten his Minesweeper score again. It wasn’t until the moratorium on away formals that Alan returned his focus to the frat issue.

As promised, Scott had sent him a password protected file complete with everything he’d learned. Alan was having trouble opening it.

“Scott, you only gave me the username for this.”

“No. It’s the password.”

“Okay. What’s the username then?”

“The same thing.”

Alan looked up at Scott sharply. “The username, and the password, are both ‘allison’?”

Scott shrugged and Alan sighed.

\---

Most of the people in the room did not look happy to be there. Alan was going to be getting a lot of dirty looks at the next few faculty meetings. The faculty advisors didn’t normally meet like this; some of them would go to IFC meetings from time to time, but never all of them at once.

“What’s going on, Alan?” asked Irvin, the advisor for Epsilon Kappa Delta.

“Dean Gerard,” Alan said simply, setting a three-ring binder on the table. “It’s been brought to my attention - and the recent decision regarding formals would seem to support this - that he intends to put an end to fraternities on this campus. This issue requires our attention.”

There was a murmur of confusion around the room.

One of the older professors scoffed. Alan didn’t know him as well, but he thought he might have been in the German department. “I heard about that. It all seems like a silly idea to me. Maybe the Dean’s thought about it, but he’d never actually go through with anything. What would be the point? The trustees would just shoot it down. Most of them were in fraternities when they went here. The Greek system is a part of this school.”

“Should it be?” said the advisor for one of the smaller frats. “They do cause a lot of trouble. At least three windows get broken every year on Shake Day, not to mention all the other indirect property damage from drunk students every weekend. And the Foam Party last year - Alan, you should be well aware of how much trouble that was.”

“And do you remember the rabies scare a few years ago?” another professor jumped in. “When those brothers caught and barbequed a racoon. It’s a dangerous environment that promotes reckless behavior and alcohol and drug abuse.”

The advisor for that particular fraternity shifted uneasily in his seat.

Alan let the griping die down a little bit. “Gentlemen, nobody forced you to take this job. You’re all here because someone asked you, and you all agreed to be parent and counsel to a group of young men. Why?”

“They’re my brothers,” said Josh immediately. “I was in Delta Kappa at State, and you’re a Delt til you die.”

“It gives young men something to be a part of. I have fond memories of my eating club at my undergrad.”

“They do a lot of philanthropy,” chimed in Irvin. “Like Greek Week coming up. My guys are getting really competitive; they’re determined to win that trophy.”

“And the mixer with the winning sorority isn’t a motivation at all?” another professor smirked.

Irvin laughed. “Actually no. When the president announced the prizes the whole chapter just started chanting ‘Trophy! Trophy! Trophy!’”

Everyone chuckled.

“The system helps us keep track of them too,” pointed out the German professor. “If a pledge ends up in the hospital, we know exactly who was supposed to be responsible for him.”

“If it was up to us, how many of you would vote to get rid of fraternities?” Alan asked.

The room went still. Not a single person raised their hand. Alan nodded, pleased.

“It’s uh- it’s not up to us though,” said Josh reluctantly. “It’s up to Dean Gerard.”

“That’s unfortunately true,” Alan admitted, “and it seems that he doesn’t agree with us.”

“So you keep saying. I’d like to see some proof of that.”

Alan flipped his binder open and slid it across the table. Everyone else leaned in and began to flip through. It was all the evidence that he and Scott and Danny had been able to compile about Gerard’s plan. The first incriminatory email, notes from Gerard’s spies including Jackson Whittemore and a sophomore named Matt Daehler, and whatever else Scott had been able to uncover in his few weeks as a double agent.

After everyone had gotten a good look, Irvin said, “Why on earth would the Dean of _Greek Life_ want to get rid of fraternities? It would put him out of a job.”

“I suspect he plans to use this success to garner favor with the trustees and campaign for President of the College, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Even if all this is true, what can we do? We can’t get him fired,” someone pointed out. “We can only appeal to the trustees and recommend that they not abolish the Greek system.”

They all looked to the oldest professor there, the advisor for Alpha Gamma and their de facto leader. He sighed heavily. “There’s no precedent for this. I don’t know what we can do. I would suggest we sit on this, and hope that nothing comes of it.”

Alan opened his mouth to protest, but the other professor kept talking. “I think this meeting is finished. Good night, gentlemen.”

\---

Alan had a standing invitation to the ABO house, but he didn't use it often because there was a fine line between cool adult and creepy adult. The Friday after the advisor meeting he parked on campus and strolled over to the house.

The house was pretty dark, so he knocked before pushing the door open. It was dim inside; only a few lights were on or working. There was a flickering light in the main room, but it was just a brother watching _The Walking Dead_ on his computer. He waved absently at Alan, and pointed towards the back yard.

There was a small knot of brothers outside, all gathered around the fire pit.

“What’s the word, Doc?” Finstock asked the second Alan walked through the back door.

He shook his head grimly. “I know somebody out here’s got some weed. Pass it over.”

“That bad, huh?” said a brother, handing him a joint and a lighter.

He smoked it slowly while he told them what had happened.

“Well boys, we tried,” Alan said finally, flicking the end of his joint into the fire. “I’m not sure what we do now.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” said Isaac. “We’ve got a few ideas.”

\---

“I keep catching people doing that.”

“Being head of the department does give one a few perks.” Dr. Morrell turned around slowly, stroking a finger down the spine of the rat she had cradled in one hand.

Alan had to laugh. “You always had a flair for the dramatic, dear.”

She bared her teeth at him in what was technically a smile.

“I rest my case.”

He left for his office, trusting that she would follow. He lit the bunsen burner on his desk and got some water boiling for tea. She swept in a few moments later with a packet of tea leaves and herbs.

“How much am I going to regret this?”

She lifted one shoulder elegantly in response.

“Alright then.” He dumped the herbs in.

“You’ve heard, I suppose,” he said after they had mugs of dark gold tea in their hands.

“About Gerard? Of course. What are you planning to do about him?”

“I have several plans, and I suspect the boys have plans of their own.”

“This ought to be an entertaining Spring Party weekend,” she said with a genuine grin.

“Indeed.”

\---

_The Interfraternity and Intersorority Councils govern the campus Greek organizations. IFC/ISC seeks to increase public knowledge of positive fraternal attributes and qualities through community engagement, extracurricular involvement, and academic endeavors. The biggest philanthropic event of the year is Greek Week, during which fraternity and sorority members participate in a week of fierce competition with 5Ks, capture the flag, Penny Wars, and water-balloon fights to raise money for a selected charity. The fraternity and sorority that raise the most money each receive a trophy and a joint mixer sponsored by the Student Activities Board!_


	15. Spring Party: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For J because she's not feeling well, and Erin because she recently started watching Teen Wolf and gave me one of the stories for this chapter.

The wall went up first, as it did every spring. Every time Derek passed the AG house there were at least two freshman working on it, music blaring and a painted cooler full of beer within easy reach. They were adding a moat this year, which was impressive and cool in theory, but Derek was ninety-eight percent positive that it would just end up full of beer cans and unmentionable bodily fluids, so really, not the best plan.

He was walking past on his way to rehearsal, muttering lines under his breath and trying not to make eye contact, when one of the spring pledges waved. It was a small wave, more like a hand raised in passing, but Derek almost tripped off the curb. What the fuck was going on?

He was taking a Shakespeare class because he’d needed to fill a hole in his schedule and he’d heard good things about the professor. It was fine, except he was one of only two guys in the class and he’d been forced into playing Laertes for their final performance. The guy playing Hamlet was a junior English major Derek barely knew, who _loved_ acting and apparently knew how to fence.

“Really angry this time, Derek. Your family is dead because of this guy.”

They ran through the fight choreography two more times before the director declared herself satisfied.

“Don’t get so drunk on Party Weekend that you forget your lines,” she laughed.

“You’re in ABO, right?” asked Hamlet, aka Troy the English major.

“Yeah,” said Derek warily.

“I know y’all are officially on probation, but if you want to get in on the Beta Block Party, we’d be interested. And uh,” he leaned in closer, “word on the street is you and the AGs are planning something major for the concert Saturday night. If we can help, let us know.”

Troy winked conspiratorially and then waved goodbye before Derek could say anything.

\---

“What’s this I hear about something going down at the concert?” Derek asked, bursting into the house.

Half a dozen brothers looked up guiltily from a crate of fireworks.

“It was Peter’s idea,” said Isaac instantly.

Finstock smacked him over the head. “The hell, man? We went over this is Interrogation 101!” he shouted. “You don’t answer any questions, and you definitely don’t rat out your brothers!”

Isaac rolled his eyes.

Derek turned to Stiles who was conspicuously avoiding his gaze. “Bambi,” he barked, “As your Big, I demand you tell me what the fuck is happening.”

Stiles sighed, shrugged at Finstock, and replied, “Talk to Peter. He and Argent know the whole plan, but they’re keeping it under wraps. All we know is to get these fireworks disguised as six packs.” He pointed at a stack of beer cases.

“This will all end in tears,” Derek declared.

“Hopefully other people’s,” smirked Isaac.

Derek stomped upstairs, shaking his head.

“Ah! Just the man I wanted to see,” said Peter, dragging Derek into his room as he reached the landing. “How do you feel about a spot of breaking and entering?”

“No.”

Peter side-eyed him. “I’ll tell Cora who really killed her goldfish.”

Derek glared. “Fine. I’ll tell Laura who really spilled beer on her LSAT book.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “You’re bluffing. You can’t prove that was me.”

Derek just smirked.

“Fine. No B and E. Just promise me you’ll go out this weekend. To every party you can and the concert.”

“Why?” Derek asked warily.

“Dean Gerard makes a point of visiting every frat party on Friday and Saturday, and we want to show him that the ABOs can play well with others,” Peter said too innocently.

“Just tell me no one will end up injured, in jail, or dead.”

Peter hesitated. “Well... it is Spring Party.”

\---

All week, sorority girls had been selling Spring Party gear in the dining hall at lunch. On Friday, Lydia Martin stopped him as he was going back for more pie.

“You’ll need one of these,” she said mysteriously, pressing a pair of sunglasses into his hand. They were hot pink; ‘Theta Zeta’ was written on one side and ‘Party Hardy’ was written on the other.

“Bring them to the concert on Saturday.”

“The concert’s at night!” he called after her, but she’d already vanished into the crowd.

The encounter had been unsettling, and he was nervous for the rest of the day. Maybe, he thought, he could just get super drunk tonight and spend the rest of the weekend in a haze of probable deniability.

He ran into Scott leaving the history building. “Hey Derek! There’s an open bar at EKD. They’re doing a mixer with TZ so I got an invite. Want to come?”

That sounded more like it.

Two generously mixed solo cups of gin and tonic later, Derek was starting to feel okay about the weekend. He could just avoid whatever shit-show Peter had planned for the concert; there had to be someone else who wanted to get off campus for a few hours. Or maybe Peter would change his mind.

Derek wandered out to the backyard where people were setting up for the shrimp boil that was the first official party of the weekend. Peter and Chris Argent were standing by the fire and laughing together.

Oh shit.

\---

Derek was woken the next morning by an alarm he definitely hadn’t set. He didn’t even know he _had_ Taylor Swift on his iPhone.

“Lovin’ him was like red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red,” blared through his speakers as he fumbled for the off button.

A bleary look at the time revealed it to be a little after eight in the morning.

“Ugh,” Derek groaned, and rolled over.

Peter was sitting in his desk chair.

“What the fuck!?”

“Red-eye at ATT. Hot chicks and mimosas, let’s go.”

“There is something wrong with you,” Derek said, but he did get out of bed.

A few of the guys from his pledge class were there with their girlfriends, and he also noticed that AG freshman Danny talking enthusiastically with one of the spring pledges of Delt.

“Is it just me, or does there seem to be a stronger sense of inter-fraternity unity this year?” Derek muttered the next time he passed Peter.

“That’s precisely the point, dear cousin,” Peter smirked. “Frats working and partying together presents a united front. An attack against one is an attack against us all. And incidentally, an attack _by_ one is an attack by us all and therefore less traceable to any individuals.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “And what might this attack be?”

Peter just laughed and went to flirt with one of the sorority girls.

One party transitioned smoothly into the next. Derek stopped by the dining hall on the way to the Block Party and found the freshmen’s drunken attempts to smuggle mixers out as amusing as usual. Some things about Spring Party never got old.

Beta had gotten an alumni band to play - Derek remembered hearing them his freshman year - and everyone was having a good time. Derek nodded at Troy who waved back. He felt a little guilty every time he went to Beta because there was an inflatable moose head up on his wall that he’d stolen from them freshman year. He’d secretly named it Petey and threw things at it when he was irritated.

He’d managed to miss him at every other party, but Derek finally got his first glimpse of Dean Gerard. The man was technically smiling, but it barely reached his mouth, let alone his eyes.. This did not bode well for whatever Peter had planned.

Derek lost sight of him after a while - presumably he’d gone to check on another party - and when the band wrapped up an hour later, Derek made his way cautiously up the hill to Alpha Gamma.

\---

He’d never set foot in the frat before, except for the mandatory house visit during Rush when he’d basically signed in and left. He passed through the crude wall and under the hand painted sign that read, “AlphiG Island.” Somebody was passed out on the hood of Stiles’s Jeep - and what was his car even doing in here?

There was a big bonfire on one side of the lawn and tiki torches scattered around. Most people had leis on and there were a handful of people in grass skirts. Derek was reaching for the doorknob when the doors burst open and the spring pledges came out carrying Jackson Whittemore on a makeshift litter. They were all shirtless, with their pledge names painted on their chests, and they were chanting something.

Derek escaped inside before he could figure out what they were saying.

"Dude!" someone said indignantly as they collided with Derek on the dance floor. Then, "Dude!"

It was Scott and he was, yep, hugging Derek. "Aw man! I'm glad you came. You know, bro, you're my fav- no wait, Stiles is my favorite tonight. Stiles!" This last was yelled practically into Derek's ear.

"You're drunk."

Scott grinned. "Yep!"

Stiles elbowed his way through the crowd, two leis and a string of Mardi Gras beads around his neck and umbrellaed drinks in both hands. “Hey man!”

“I hope you didn’t get those by flashing people,” Derek said, eyeing the beads.

Stiles laughed. “My virtue’s intact. I lifted them from Isaac.”

Scott was still leaning against Derek. “I told him you were my favorite,” he said seriously.

“Damn straight.”

Stiles started to hand one of the drinks to Scott, hesitated, and then shoved it towards Derek. “Broseph’s gotta sober up before the concert, and you look like you need to loosen up before then. A wise man once told me that everything’s better when you’re drunk.”

“An alcoholic told you that,” Derek said, but he took the drink.

Scott had latched onto Stiles’s arm. Stiles sighed fondly at him. “Baby, you gotta let go; that’s my drinking arm.”

Derek wandered back outside before the bromance got too intense. There was another pair of drunk freshmen out there by the wall.

“Come on, dude! Puke and rally. I don’t want to miss the concert ‘cause my best bro is puking in the moat.”

“Go on without me, man. I’m not gonna make it.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here,” the first boy insisted. “Nobody’s dying tonight.”

Derek watched in shock and awe as he bodily lifted his friend off the ground and hauled him in the direction of the lake.

“Brotherhood truly is a beautiful thing, isn’t it Derek?” Peter asked, materializing from apparently nowhere. “Now it’s time to show that to the rest of the world.”

\---

_"I needed to get trashed, and you know what? MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!" - one of my pledge sisters_


	16. Spring Party: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter with plot! Many thanks to "Animal House."

Scott had enjoyed Fall Party weekend. It had been a bright spot in his brief fraternity tenure. The now-infamous Cutlery Caper had been a fun, successful, largely harmless prank. Scott still wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten from there to here. Now, facing down the biggest, most delinquent day of Spring Party weekend - and possibly of his freshman year - Scott wasn’t sure he was having a good time. It didn’t help that he’d passed through Happy Drunk and into What Am I Doing With My Life Drunk.

“This is a terrible idea, isn’t it? We’re all going to get expelled.”

“They can’t expel the entire fraternity system and a significant chunk of the sorority system,” Stiles sighed, idly tossing a beer can at the inflatable moose head on the wall. “We’ll be fine.”

“Isn’t that Derek’s?” Scott asked.

“Yep. I stole it from his room. We needed some extra class down here.”

Scott rolled his eyes and went back to pacing.

“Calm down. Drink another beer, or get some weed from Isaac’s room. Everything’s gonna go great tonight. Your plan is most excellent.”

“You helped,” Scott protested, hiding his blush in the cooler. “And Deaton and Peter.”

“Pshaw,” Stiles scoffed. “It was all your brilliance, man. We’ll make a criminal mastermind out of you yet.”

“We have to survive the night first, Bambi,” growled Finstock, appearing suddenly in the door.

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Liberating bikes.”

“You didn’t put them up in trees again, did you?” Peter asked, coming down the stairs.

“It’s a Spring Party tradition.”

Peter sighed. “Just get everyone together, would you?”

“BROTHERS ASSEMBLE!” Finstock roared.

The brothers following him and the few who, like Scott and Stiles, had been relaxing in the house before the concert piled warily into the chapter room.

“My brothren!” Finstock began, and Scott immediately started to tune him out. It was the usual Finstock mix of incoherent ranting and quotes from movies. Instead, Scott drank his beer and kept an eye on the clock. They were on a timetable after all; it wouldn’t do to be late to the biggest party of the year.

\---

The concert was a school function so no other events were allowed to be scheduled, but Peter had said that people usually did their own thing anyway. But this year it was absolutely packed. Almost the entire Greek community and most of the Independents had shown up. Stiles and Allison were chattering away in line next to him, and Scott could see Boyd and Erica a little ways ahead.

“Our evil plan is working,” Stiles whispered, pointing to the very front of the line where Derek had just gotten in, one of their modified six packs in his hand and a pair of hot pink sunglasses perched on his head.

Scott raised his eyebrow at that and Allison giggled. “That was Lydia’s idea.”

Scott had been to the lake only once before. During Orientation, one of the RAs had invited him and Stiles out to play a big game of Capture the Flag. They’d driven out there with a small group of other freshmen in a white van with no windows or seats. Stiles had been convinced they were going to be be murdered or sold into slavery. When they got there, everyone else had already left, so they ended up playing an impromptu game of volleyball.

The concert was in a little valley with the stage erected along the edge of the lake to discourage drunk swimming. The opening band was a group of seniors Scott had heard before, and the headliner was a band from the nearby city. Scott had looked them up on Youtube and they were actually pretty good. He felt a little bit bad about disrupting their show, but needs must.

Scott had reached another plateau of happiness on the drunken landscape, and he was feeling positive about the whole night.

“You know, Stiles, I think this might actually work.”

“Of course it will,” Stiles insisted, flailing along to the beat.

Allison was trying unsuccessfully to help him find the rhythm, but Scott knew a lost battle when he saw one, so he stole his girlfriend back.

“This is our last song, so really rock it out, guys!” the lead singer yelled.

“I should go check on Lydia,” Allison said. “Be right back.”

Stiles took her place. “You know the toast, dude? The line about ‘our deeds are notorious’? Well they fucking will be after tonight.”

“And if I were to die today, and choose between Heaven and Hell,” Scott started.

“I’d say, Lord, let me be, cause I’d rather be, down with those ABOs!” Stiles finished animatedly.

\---

Between acts, Chris Argent stepped up onto the stage. “On behalf of the Greek community, I would like to thank Dean Gerard for all the work he’s done to make this event a special one. His respect for students and devotion to the Code of Conduct are an inspiration. Dean Gerard, this is all for you!”

There was a quite respectable amount of applause, and Scott could see Gerard waving politely from where he stood with a knot of professors and administrators.

The headliner took the stage to loud cheers. If there hadn’t been a noise, Scott knew, they would have been able to hear a boat’s engine start up across the lake.

Lydia and Allison reappeared bearing beer cans and solo cups full of wine.

“Where’d you get the wine?” Stiles asked, taking a large gulp of Allison’s.

Lydia opened her bag to reveal a bag of wine and several smoke flares.

“Damn,” Stiles whistled, reaching for them.

“Not yet,” she scolded, smacking his hand. “Those are for later.”

“Not much later,” Scott murmured, scanning the crowd.

People were slowly drifting into place as the band launched into the final verse.

“Everyone ready?” he asked and the three of them nodded.

As the final chord rang out, Scott and Lydia rolled the flares across the stage. Smoke billowed out and a few people screamed. Scott managed to fumble his sunglasses on right as the fireworks started going off. Under the cover of smoke and sparks, he and Allison slipped away to their second position.

He could see everything from the crest of the hill above the stage. It was all absolute chaos. The band had staggered offstage clutching their instruments. Fireworks kept going off with renewed screams and people hustling to get away from them. The smoke had died out somewhat, but it still lingered around the array of lights and the ‘Spring Concert’ banner that the Student Activities Board had put up. Dean Gerard and the President of the college had taken the stage and were calling for order. Which was when the boat arrived.

Or - to be specific - was when the boat ran aground and the prow split the banner neatly down the pre-cut seam. Tied to the prow was a lovingly hand-crafted likeness of Dean Gerard.

A horde of brothers poured off the boat, armed with Nerf guns and super soakers and led by Isaac, Jackson and what had to be Finstock with that ridiculous pirate costume. They got in a few shots at Gerard, but mostly they headed into the crowd after professors.

Peter was last off the ship, armed with a small painted cooler decorated with the crests of every fraternity and sorority on campus. Scott watched triumphantly as Peter tapped Dean Gerard politely on the shoulder and then proceeded to dump the cooler of lake water over his head.

“Now!” he told Allison, and she took aim and fired.

Her bolt severed the cord holding up another specially made banner. It seemed to unfold in slow motion, and Scott grinned as the words ‘¡CARPE NOCHE!’ were revealed.

Allison grabbed his hand and they tumbled down the hill and were swept up into the crowd.

\---

_Good morning. In less than an hour, aircraft from here will join others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in the history of mankind. "Mankind." That word should have new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it's fate that today is the Fourth of July, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom... Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day the world declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night!" We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day!_

_\- Coach Finstock, uh, Independence Day (1996)_


	17. Toga Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you write a frat AU you are legally obligated to include a Toga Party.

Scott hadn’t had any clean sheets, so by the time his laundry finished drying and after some frantic pre-gaming, the party was already in full swing. A generic, top forty bass line thudded through ABO. The house was absolutely packed. People had spilled onto the front porch and out across the lawn.

Derek was on the porch chatting with a pretty, senior girl.

“We did it, bro!” Scott cheered, already a little buzzed. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

“Well it sort of worked. We’re still technically on probation.”

“Yeah, but Gerard is gone,” insisted Scott, refusing to let Derek harsh his mellow. “And that is worth celebrating with an awesome costume.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Nice toga by the way.”

“At least he actually dressed for the theme,” Jennifer teased. “I told you I could make you one.”

Derek growled. “Theme parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Theme parties,” Scott declared, “are everyone’s thing.”

“Oh look. There’s Deaton. I need to ask him an important question.”

“Chicken!” Jennifer called after him.

Derek actually had seen Deaton, but the advisor had vanished and Derek had to track him to the kitchen where he was watching a set of twin boys having a keg stand competition.

“My grandmother can drink faster than that!” Finstock was yelling. “And she’s _dead_!”

“Derek,” Deaton greeted calmly, offering him the tail end of a joint.

Deaton wasn’t in a toga either, though he had acquired a laurel wreath somewhere.

“I have got to stop hanging out with undergraduates,” Alan sighed, “Finstock’s starting to make sense.”

“Hear hear,” said Lydia. “Drinking helps me deal with it.”

She pressed a margarita into his hand and another into Derek’s.

“You’re an undergrad too,” Derek pointed out.

Lydia just looked at him. Derek shrugged and headed for the backyard. Lydia took her last two margaritas and went in search of Allison. She weaved through the crowded dance floor, nodding at classmates and sorority sisters.

Peter stopped her as she was starting up the stairs.

“Miss Martin. What did you think of that Medieval Latin final?”

Lydia sighed. “I spent thirty minutes being pissed, thirty minutes being horny, then two hours actually taking the exam.”

Peter blinked in surprise and was, for once, stunned silent. “Yeah, the translations were a little tricky, I guess.”

“Oh no. I translated the passages into English no problem. I spent most of the time translating back to Classical Latin and explaining the changes. Have you seen Allison?”

Peter pointed up the stairs and wordlessly followed in her wake as she swept up to the game room. There was a crowd of people there playing a variant on Up the River Down the River. Danny was dealing and very much enjoying his position of power.

“Greenberg, take two for fucking up - for fucking up everything.”

Peter laughed, and clapped Danny on the shoulder as he passed.

“Goddammit, Danny,” Jackson groaned. “I’ve hardly had anything to drink. Play a card that I’ve got in my hand.”

“What will you give me?” Danny asked with a smirk.

“I’ll pay you back in balls. I’ve got like, twenty balls.”

Scott and Isaac burst out laughing.

“Jackson, take two for that disturbing mental image, and take another twenty-three because I feel bad for you.”

“That’s a song!” Isaac crowed, dragging Jackson to his feet.  
“Here’s to Brother Jackson, Brother Jackson, Brother Jackson,” the whole group sang in boisterous unison as Jackson chugged his beer.

Scott sang along idly from the couch where he was sprawled. Allison had her feet in his lap while Lydia did something complicated with braids to her hair. Music drifted from the dance floor downstairs, and Scott switched to singing along to “Heartless.”

“How could you be so drunkface?” he crooned.

Allison laughed.

Chris Argent side-eyed them as he walked past from the beer pong tables, but it looked more like a big brother side-eye than a fraternity rival side-eye, so Scott waved at him. He waved back, a little stunned.

“Chris!” someone shouted from downstairs. “Jared’s puking again.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“You’re the president. Make him go to bed.”

Chris rolled his eyes.

“Oh the drunkies, you gotta love ‘em,” Scott said sagely. “Seriously, you have to, otherwise they get belligerent.”

Chris gave him a wary thumbs up and headed out to the backyard. The sophomore was indeed puking at the edge of the woods. He snagged a reasonably sober looking person and made them promise to get him home.

“Here,” said a quiet voice, and a beer appeared in his line of sight.

He looked up to see Boyd.

“Thanks, man.”

Boyd gestured back at Erica. “She wants to go dance, but we’ve still got beer, and she doesn’t want to leave it unguarded.”

They walked over to the fire where Erica was sitting on a cooler and flirting with two junior AGs.

“I like to eat after, but I can’t decide what kind of cake to get for my threeway.”

Boyd dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Hello, pumpkin,” he rumbled.

“Hello, snookums,” she purred, baring her teeth.

The juniors vanished and Erica hopped up to kiss Boyd.

“Terrorizing my brothers?” Chris asked.

“Keeping them on their toes.”

She fished another can out of the cooler and tossed it to Chris. She divided the remainder of the six pack between herself and Boyd, and then dragged him off to the dance floor. Boyd held her close as the bass pounded through their bones.

Someone bumped into Erica’s back, almost causing her to spill her beer. She turned around to yell at them, but started grinning at the sight of Allison and Scott wrapped around each other and joined at the lips.

Erica prodded Allison in the shoulder, and she jumped. Erica steered Boyd away, tossing a grin over her shoulder as they went. Allison shook her head. She thought about pursuing them, but she was riding the buzz of Lydia’s margarita and wanted to stay in this happy place. Anyway, Scott had started kissing her again, and that was more important.

Stiles shouldered his way up to them, beer bottle in hand, huge dark glasses on his face, baseball cap on backwards, and-

“Are you really wearing a Batman toga right now?” Allison asked incredulously.

Stiles shrugged. “It was this or Star Wars.”

“I always wanted Star Wars sheets,” Allison sighed.

Scott shifted awkwardly.

“Do you not- Scott, please tell me you like Star Wars.”

“He hasn’t even seen them,” Stiles wailed. “I considered requesting a new roommate.”

“Tomorrow,” Allison insisted, making Scott pinky promise.

“Count me in too. But I can’t stay now; I’m on a mission from Peter.”

“That’s terrifying,” said Scott mildly.

Stiles saluted and marched up to the DJ stand. The DJ took one look at him and decided it would be easier to just let him do what he wanted.

“Greetings bros and lady-bros! Is everyone having a good time?”

The crowd cheered.

“Great! I expect everyone to know this next song and to sing along, got it?”

Everyone cheered again.

“You guys are so awesome,” Stiles said, pretending to wipe a tear from his cheek. “Have fun and remember, this is college, everyone is twenty-one!”

He gave the DJ a thumbs up and leapt off the stage as ‘Shout’ started playing. He bopped through the crowd, dancing with everyone he passed until he made it to the corner where Derek was lurking. Stiles dragged Derek down to the floor with him as the “little bit softer now” section started, and Derek went grudgingly. By the time the volume started picking up again, Derek was smiling slightly. And when the whole crowd was back on its feet and jumping, Derek had started to sing along. Stiles fist pumped.

The song ended and the DJ went back to more modern hits. Scott came over to dance with Stiles, and dragged Derek into a little dance circle. A couple other brothers joined them, and girlfriends, and eventually Derek found himself in a dance circle that included a large majority of the dance floor.

Scott slung an arm around his shoulder and grinned at him. “Not bad, huh? Who would’ve thought the year would have ended up here? Gerard’s gone, we’re reconciled with AG, all the frats are getting along, Derek Hale is smiling-”

Derek punched him in the arm. But only a little.

“Are you guys having a broment without me?” Stiles asked, popping up next to Scott.

“Never,” insisted Scott, smacking a big kiss on Stiles’s cheek.

“Of course not,” Stiles grinned. “What a year, man. What a fucking year. Are they always this-”

“Awful?” suggested Scott.

“Awesome!” finished Stiles.

“Well last year the frat house almost burned to the ground, but the year before that was pretty quiet,” Derek said drily.

Stiles laughed uncomfortably and patted Derek on the shoulder. “I never know when you’re joking, dude.”

“I never joke.”

“Oh-kay.”

Derek winked at them and walked off.

“You’re a madman, Hale!” Stiles yelled.

“So,” said Scott. “Great idea, or the greatest idea?”  
“The Toga Party? I think it was an excellent idea. Very traditional, and you know how I feel about theme parties.”

“Yeah, the party’s great. But I was talking about joining a fraternity. One of my better ideas, I think.”

“You know, I doubted you at first, but I was totally wrong. This has been great.”  
Stiles lifted his hand for a fist bump. Scott had gone for a high five, but he just went with it and wrapped his hand around Stiles’s fist.

“Brothers?” Scott asked and Stiles nodded emphatically.

“Brothers.”

\---

_Katy: Is this really what you’re gonna do for the rest of your life?_

_Boon: What do you mean?_

_Katy: I mean hanging around with a bunch of animals getting drunk every weekend._

_Boon: No! After I graduate, I’m gonna get drunk every night._

_-Animal House (1978)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest and most ambitious thing I’ve worked on to date. I wrote it over the course of a year and frequently while drinking. Please forgive any errors in grammar or continuity. I might fix them later.
> 
> Thanks: Thanks to Erin (castiel-angel-of-thorsday) for reminding me of frat stories I’d forgotten and giving me permission to use her sorority’s drinking game (next time we play together, I should probably take two for fucking up the rules). Thanks to Niña (neenya) whose tags inspired this story (http://rosewindow.tumblr.com/post/30126708013/nininghasfeelings-eveningowl-jesus-christ) and who is all around awesome. Thanks to Jay (boxoftheskyking) for always being encouraging and enthusiastic about this story. Thanks to the Greek system at my college for being so unavoidable that I joined a sorority and ended up with all these great stories. And most of all, thanks to you for reading this!


End file.
